


Pretend with me

by kayejwrotes



Series: Pretend with me [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Edited, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Hanamaki's Family - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Matsukawa's Family - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, mentioned OC death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayejwrotes/pseuds/kayejwrotes
Summary: “Marry me.”“–and you’ll have more time to do the usual tests and adjustments if there’re probl – What the fuck?” Matsukawa-san looked as if he had just been slapped in the face.Takahiro could feel his cheeks growing hot with every passing second, but his gut told him this was a good idea. He wanted at least to try to make it work. Plus, he always trusted his gut.“I said, marry me.” His voice was shaky, but Takahiro tried to sound as dignified as possible.“Hanamaki-san,” Matsukawa-san’s eyes looked ready to murder him, but Takahiro appreciated the fact that he hadn’t acted on the intent yet. “If this is your idea of a joke, I assure you it sucks.”
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Pretend with me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861666
Comments: 22
Kudos: 125





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/gifts).



> This work was originally published in 2019 as a gift for Elleh. What was but a humble 1k+ words fic of Enemies to Lovers Matsuhana, lately it developed into this monstrous fic I couldn't seem to find the end of. I'm sorry, Elleh.  
> I left it at chapter 2 last year because I was in no shape - neither physical nor mental - to go on writing it.  
> I picked it up this year, with the newfound will to go through with the end of this story, and with the hand of a wonderful, unexpected help in the form of a mighty beta (Frankie, I'll never be able to thank you enough for your help), it seems I've found the right words for this story again.  
> Without further ado, please enjoy this humble fic of mine. I hope you'll fall in love with it as much as I did while writing it.

Takahiro ended the call feeling empty and unsettled. The lawyer on the other side had been short and direct, explaining everything to him in clear words.

He was still hurting and it wasn’t the lawyer’s fault.

Takahiro knew this, but he couldn’t help the anger mounting inside at the idea of what would happen if he wouldn’t comply.

The conversation kept playing in his mind as he paced back and forth in his office.

_ “Is this Hanamaki Takahiro?” _

_ “Yes, it’s me.” _

_ “Nice to meet you Hanamaki-san. I’m Matsumoto Hatsui, Hanamaki Ryoutaro’s lawyer.” _

_ “...” _

_ “I know it’s still fresh, but Ryoutaro-san’s last will was opened and read today. I suppose you didn’t know anything about this since you weren’t here today, do you?” _

_ “... You are correct, Matsumoto-san.” _

_ “Ah... as expected from Ryoutaro-san. Anyway, I won’t take up too much time with this and will get straight to the point, if that’s okay with you.” _

_ “Yes, of course. I’d very much appreciate that.” _

_ “I was the one helping your uncle with the sealing and writing of his will. He was an old friend of mine, so if you have any further questions about this feel free to ask me. In short, Ryoutaro-san left all of his possessions to you, his beloved sister’s nephew.” _

_ “...I ... I honestly wasn’t expecting this.” _

_ “On one condition, though. I’m afraid that from what Ryoutaro-san told me about you, this won’t be welcomed information. _

_ Takahiro knew what was coming before Matsumoto-san even spoke. There has only ever been one point Uncle Ryoutaro and he have ever argued upon. Because no matter how old he could be, Uncle would always be after his happiness, a soft smile to his lips even if Takahiro scowled after the neverending chats over the fact that he didn’t believe in love. There's no way that now that he couldn’t avoid his request he’d be asked something like this. What made the whole thing worse was the fact that Takahiro could feel the sentiment behind this one last request.  _ _  
_ _ Uncle had always opposed him on things that he thought would be good for Takahiro. The fact that Uncle would write such a thing on his last will it’s the closer he’ll get from receiving one last caress by him. The thought did nothing to stop the squirming feeling in the stomach. It was as if he’d just heard the news about his death once again: Uncle Ryoutaro would never argue with him on the topic anymore. _

_ Matsumoto-san’s voice jolted him from the painful realisation.  _

_ “Ryoutaro-san has expressly declared that it is essential for you to be married to claim any of those possessions, otherwise it will go in its integrity to the next person mentioned in Ryoutaro-san’s will, who happens to be his sister’s son, Maruichi Takanobu.” _

_ Hanamaki tightened his grip on the phone. _

_ “There’s no way I’ll leave Uncle Ryoutaro’s home to that jerk.” _

_ “Well, Maruichi-san was there today, and he already knows about the condition for such an event to happen. Since you are so… adamant about this, I suppose I will wait for you and your spouse to show up here in my Kyoto office anytime soon?” _

_ “Yes. We’ll be there this weekend.” _

_ “Oh, that’s really nice to hear Hanamaki-san! I really hoped to make your acquaintance as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting for the both of you then! See you on Saturday morning then!” _

The cheerful voice of the old lawyer kept resonating in his ears long after the conversation ended and yet his expression was as grim and angry as before.

It wasn’t that he needed anything more than what he had already. He was a well-known designer working for a good company.

He had a good job, a nice home, anything he could have wished for. He had decided distance himself from whatever his family might need a long time ago. 

Except from Uncle Ryoutaro. 

Uncle had always been there for him, always called from time to time to check up on him, even when he had stopped spending every summer in the old family house in Kyoto. He'd never been one attached to whatever was left of the family wealth everyone had always been so eager to put their hands upon. He'd never smiled falsely at his Uncle. Uncle had always respected his choice for wanting nothing to do with the rest of the family

Now, it was a different matter though.

He won't let Uncle Ryoutaro’s home be raided and destroyed by that asshole who had never worried about him once in his life.

He still remembered the greedy look he had cast around the nice, traditional Japanese home Uncle had cared for by himself in Kyoto. It was the house he had cared for all his life, where his father had lived, and his father's father before him. The house had been in the Hanamaki family for generations and each new owner had left something of himself in that place. Uncle Ryoutaro had built it to reflect his soul, piece-by-piece, expressing himself through it as he never could with the rest of the world. 

Takahiro loved that house and Uncle Ryoutaro. He is the adult he is today in great part because of Uncle Ryoutaro and the days spent with him in that house. 

In his mind, he could already see Maruichi making plans right after the funeral ceremony to demolish the house so he could build a horrible skyscraper on the land.

That parasite, that vermin, that horrible human being –! They partly shared a genetic makeup, but Takahiro couldn’t bear to be likened to him. Not even from afar.

Uncle had loved art and life. Takahiro remembered endless summer afternoons spent on the porch of that house with the bitterness of freshly done barley tea on his tongue and Uncle’s voice quietly explaining to him the happiness that his calligraphy works gave him, how every single form of traditional art he engaged with made his life a little bit better. Those memories were all the legacy he needed. His uncle had given him the best inheritance he could, passing onto him the tools to become who he was today.

He couldn’t let all of Uncle’s life –the house that contained it all, the very essence of what Uncle had tried to accomplish –be discarded like an old shoe, put in a bin, and thrown away just because fashions change.

He wanted to preserve it. All in all, if he was where he was now, it was because of the seed of beauty, that longing for it, that those endless summer conversations with Uncle had planted in his heart.

Thinking about the wrecking ball coming down to crush the ancient wooden boards… it gave him the same feeling as uprooting himself. He couldn’t just stay put and let it happen.

But then, there was still the problem of marriage. There was no way around it. From whatever point he'd look at the situation, fact remained that Takahiro wasn’t married.

He wasn’t in a relationship nor did he intend to be in one. Especially considering how badly his past ones had ended. He didn’t need a relationship. He was more than happy with his friends and the occasional flings he happened to come across.

Nothing serious, nor permanent. He was happy with things going that way, despite the worried looks Tooru sometimes sent in his direction. He was  _ happy _ , really.

Right now, he desperately hoped for a way to get out of that impasse. He wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment, and the idea of calling back that guy from H&R he had a date with two weeks ago wasn’t appealing at all. The guy wouldn’t know sarcasm if it danced naked in front of him, and let's not start on his bedroom manner. How could someone like that be hired in fucking H&R was beyond his comprehension.

As Takahiro paced back and forth in his office, someone opened the door and he stayed frozen mid-step, eyes wide and wary as if he had been caught doing something nasty.

To be fair, Matsukawa-san’s expression was as surprised as his.

The man had a few folders neatly tucked under his left arm, a dark blue tie tucked inside the pocket of his violet shirt so it wouldn’t be in the way. He had a pen perched right behind the tip of his right ear and his dark curls. To complete the look, he wore black-rimmed glasses that did nothing to disguise the dark circles that everyone in the Sales department seemed to just grow by the end of the term. 

Despite all of this, he still seemed more put together than what Takahiro must have looked like at that moment, walking all alone and muttering to himself in his office. Matsukawa-san closed the door behind himself quietly and composed his expression into a neutral one, as if he hadn't witnessed anything out of the ordinary.

“If it’s a bad moment, I can come back in a few minutes,” he said, even though he was already placing the folders on Takahiro's desk and taking charts and other sheets out of them.

To Takahiro, it had sounded as if Matsukawa had just received confirmation on how insane the guy from Design was once again but he couldn't be bothered to deal with his shit.

Of all the people who could have come through his door right now, Matsukawa was the worst, because… well, they had hated each other since the first day at the company. They never failed to kindle the fire of their annoyance for the other whenever the occasion presented itself. 

Takahiro was quite certain that the scene he'd just so freely shown to Matsukawa could be used as proof for the umpteenth time of the chief of Design’s mental instability in the next meeting.

In the name of their long-standing rivalry, Takahiro put his foot down and straightened up, walking slowly to his chair and showing Matsukawa to the one in front of his desk where he was already sitting, as dignified as he could appear despite having just been caught freaking out all by himself.

“No, please. I was just… thinking,” he said in the most casual tone he could muster, deciding it was okay to ignore Matsukawa’s raised eyebrow as he waited for Takahiro to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk.

There was a moment of silence. A look passed between them, and Takahiro just knew that they were both trying to agree on having a civil conversation for the sake of office harmony. Or that was the bullshit H&R had told them to think about the last time they had to sedate an argument between them.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I won’t take too much of your time,” Matsukawa-san started, picking a few papers full of charts and numbers and turning them toward Takahiro.

Takahiro cringed at the sight. It was without any doubt the budget plan for the last project his department was working upon, every little expense and deadline noted precisely on the pages in front of him. It was never nice when he and Matsukawa from Sales discussed budget and deadlines.

Matsukawa-san was probably a good person outside of the office – or that was what everyone told him when the topic arose– but he wasn’t interested in knowing him outside of the office when he couldn’t bear to work with him in the office. He’d probably be as insufferable as at work.

And yet, they were so similar! Takahiro fussed and hovered over his colleagues like an old mother hen, or that was what most of them liked to call him. He reminded them about deadlines, meticulously checked their work, poured in endless hours of extra work any time he could so that their department could be perfect. He worried a lot, to be honest, but since he was the head of the Design department, it was only natural he did so. 

His work and colleagues were an important part of his life, and he liked to treat it that way. 

And, while he loathed to admit that they had something in common, Takahiro couldn’t deny that Matsukawa-san too was a good boss who cared for his department’s colleagues in his own way. He was always worrying about his department, pouring endless hours of work when needed, reminding everyone about deadlines and costs, always telling them how important it was to be finished days before the deadlines kicked in and how they had to stay in budget guidelines, no matter what, checking and double-checking everything before sending it to the higher ups so that none from his department could be considered at fault. Being the head of the Sales department affected everyone in the company, not only his close colleagues. 

Takahiro didn’t like it.

Of course, they tried to actually comply with all the requests Sales made, but most of the time, it was impossible. They worked as a team, everyone with their part of the project to work upon. If the project needed more time than established to be done, was it their fault?

Hanamaki liked to think that no, it wasn’t. Matsukawa, of course, didn’t agree with him.

Hence, the arguments, hence the fights, hence the ongoing frenemy vibes that developed whenever someone from Sales and someone from Design happened to be in the same room.

There were exceptions, of course, but the general environment was this one.

That was only the tip of the iceberg of his and Matsukawa’s long-suffered work relationship, but they tried to make it work when necessary. At least, they begrudgingly recognized each others’ merits since they had been working so long for the same company. They couldn't just ignore how good they were at their respective jobs.

And while Matsukawa-san was still going through deadlines for a new product, shipments, and how it was important that this time they stayed in the fixated budget, the idea struck him.

Matsukawa-san was good at his job. A hardworking man. He stuck by his rules and never strayed from them. He gave off that vibe of stability and dependability that made everyone trust him naturally. He spoke usually in a calm tone, voice clear, and words straight to the point. As if that wasn't enough, he was used to working toward a goal and obtain it, no matter what.

They had known each other for a long time. They knew each others’ flaws and good points, even if they'd never admit that face to face. They were already forced to work for the same goal most of the times, despite them doing it begrudgingly.

It was so crazy it could actually work. 

“– the next wood shipment for the first tests have been arranged for the 15th of the next month, so you should have all the preliminary designs sent to us in time for the 3rd. This way we will have enough time to send them to the carpenter and have them prepare the material for you. This will buy everyone around four days on the production schedule further along–”

“Marry me.”

“–and you’ll have more time to do the usual tests and adjustments if there’re probl – What the fuck?” Matsukawa-san looked as if he had just been slapped in the face.

Takahiro could feel his cheeks growing hot with every passing second, but his gut told him this was a good idea. He wanted at least to try to make it work. Plus, he always trusted his gut.

“I said, marry me.” His voice was shaky, but Takahiro tried to sound as dignified as possible.

“Hanamaki-san,” Matsukawa-san’s eyes looked ready to murder him, but Takahiro appreciated the fact that he hadn’t acted on the intent yet. “If this is your idea of a joke, I assure you it sucks.”

Blunt as ever.

Takahiro bit his lip and the “fuck you” ready to come out from his mouth as quick as he could.

“I’m serious, Matsukawa-san, I need you to marry me.”

The other man stilled in the chair and sat back again. “That’s quite a weird wording for asking something like that from me. We are not even interested in each other, if you weren’t aware of it.”

“This is so complicated…” Takahiro sighed.

He stood up, starting to pace again, and Matsukawa-san rotated in his chair, eyes following his movements with a light that seemed having ruled out the ‘sudden madness’ possibility from his list, for the moment.

He was going to listen to him, despite how ridiculous he probably was. Now, Takahiro only had to make this work his way.

“So, as you may be aware, a few weeks ago I had to take a few days of leave.” He looked around at Matsukawa-san. “I went to Kyoto to attend my uncle’s funeral.”

“Oh… I’m sorry for your loss.” It came out soft, more than what he had expected. Takahiro acknowledged this with a nod of his head and a quick wave of his hand, eager to continue.

“Today, his lawyer called to tell me he had read my uncle’s last will and that I was listed as the sole person in the family to inherit his properties.”

“I still can’t see where the marriage thing comes in though…”

“Well, it was…”

“Or when my assistance comes in because this is already starting to look as if it's not needed – I mean, you could just marry someone else and get done with it, it would be simpler than having to actually involve me– ”

“That’s if you will fucking let me finish! This is already complicated without you interrupting me!”

“Well, it’s not like you have been clear from the start, Hanamaki-san!”

An irritated sound made its way out of his lips, but Matsukawa-san had probably seen something else because the next thing he was going to say never came past his lips. Instead he gestured to him to keep going.

“So, as I was saying, today he called me to tell me about the inheritance – which to be honest I didn’t even know there was one, I’m not that kind of person.” He felt the need to remark this. 

Takahiro had expected some sort of comment from Matsukawa-san on this part, but it seemed like the other was leaving him all space to finish his story before reacting in any way.

“Anyway, apparently there seems to be a problem with it. I can’t claim it without a particular condition fulfilled. I’ll be honest: I don’t need the money nor other things, but I can’t just let my uncle’s house be destroyed by my cousin, who will happen to inherit the whole thing if I can’t comply with the condition.” 

He took in a shaky breath and for a moment Takahiro felt as if he was on the verge of breaking down and let everything out: the pain for uncle's death, the fury against Maruichi, the dread about what would happen if he wouldn't be able to prove the lawyer he was married, the profound uneasiness he felt at the idea of being married to someone, even if it was for a good reason... Instead, he steeled himself once again, determined to continue without showing anything of what he was feeling inside.

“The condition is that I’ve to be married, and since I can’t let this go to waste, I’m asking you to marry me, Matsukawa-san,” Takahiro concluded, stopping his pacing with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Issei had listened to the whole explanation without uttering a single word, but now, under Hanamaki-san insistent gaze, he couldn’t help hoping he wasn’t showing any of the confusion he felt inside.

This was crazy. Simply crazy. He couldn’t just get married like that. What would his family say? Or his friends? And let’s not think about their co-workers.

They weren’t in a relationship. For God’s sake, they couldn’t even stand each other. It wouldn’t work. Not even in the eyes of someone who had never seen them. They’d be called out for their bullshit right away. It was plain crazy. It couldn’t work. End of discussion.

And yet, one look at Hanamaki-san’s eyes and he found himself asking, “What’s in it for me? Why ask me and not someone else?”

Issei hated himself a bit for his own curiosity. Really, his mum was right when she said it would get him into a big mess one day, but he couldn’t help himself, not when the look in Hanamaki-san’s eyes almost compelled him to blurt it out against his own will.

Honestly, Takahiro was only waiting for Matsukawa to simply get up and leave, chalking the whole thing up as some elaborate joke to get him back for something he had done. Matsukawa question had taken him by surprise, a very welcome one. Despite all of that, at Matsukawa-san’s level-headed question Takahiro found himself asking the same thing. Why, he wanted to know. The only answer he had was really stupid, in retrospect. Anyway, he was already making a fool of himself so it couldn’t really go any worse than this.

“You were here…?” he tried, but Matsukawa-san’s unimpressed stare fixed him right on the spot. 

He needed to add something quickly if he didn’t want to lose that slim hope of possibility at making this dumbass plan work.

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “And...! I knew that despite all our differences and past animosity,” (he decided to ignore Matsukawa-san’s amused smirk), “you are someone I can trust completely. I disagree with some of your decisions, but I respect your work ethic and the trust you’ve built with your colleagues. I know that if you’d agree to help me with this, you wouldn’t let me down halfway.”

“I know I already said you were here,” he added with a quiet nod of his head, fixing his eyes into Issei’s, “but I honestly can’t think of someone else I could trust with this kind of thing. You are the one that I’d ask this favour from, no matter the circumstances,” voice soft at the end, too unguarded and devoid from any kind of hidden trap.

Under Matsukawa-san's gaze, Takahiro felt his fight or flight instinct was this close to kicking in. On one side, what he had said was just the truth. He could have lied, told some elaborate joke, have some fun at Matsukawa-san's expenses, but if there was one thing Takahiro couldn't really do without was this raw earnestness that came out whenever he expected it the least and made him want to crawl under his desk and never get out from there. Because the most embarrassing thing was having to wait for Matsukawa-san to stand up and leave. Any normal person would behave like that. Hell. Takahiro would behave like that in such a situation. And yet, some little part of him hoped fiercely that his long time enemy wouldn't leave him stranded, not after Takahiro had bared his mind for him with such ease.    
Everyone always thought about how fierce Hanamaki-san's was for stating his mind so openly. Takahiro always trembled under the scrutinizing gaze of those that he let peruse his thoughts so freely. It was a heady, terrifying sensation.

“I’ve never heard you say anything like that about me, Hanamaki-san. Should I be worried you really wanna marry me?” Matsukawa-san asked, raising an eyebrow.

There wasn’t anything but sincerity in Takahiro’s eyes when he answered him bluntly, if not a bit shakily,“Yes, I do.”

Silence fell over them while Matsukawa seemed to realize it wasn’t a joke. 

Takahiro watched Matsukawa as the words rolled over in the other’s mind with an air of seriousness that had him taking a deep breath.

“So… I’m not yet sold on the idea, Hanamaki-san," he began, choosing his words carefully. "It seems this could blow up in our faces too easily. I can’t just accept your proposal like this. I believe you can understand my perplexities.”

Takahiro felt his shoulder fall imperceptibly with that sentence. His brilliant plan for saving Uncle Ryoutaro’s beloved home seemed to be sinking with every passing second.

Matsukawa drew a heavy breath in, passing a hand through his hair as if that could conquer those unruly curls of his.

“But, since you are putting so much faith in me, I’ll at least give you a chance to clear all my doubts so we’ll be able to strike a fair deal over this. How does it sound to you?”

Matsukawa wasn’t exactly smiling while he stood up offering him his hand, but Takahiro felt confident enough to actually consider that small upward turn of lips a ship not having sunk just yet.

He took his hand, shaking it vigorously.

“I’ll make sure to convince you as soon as possible, Matsukawa-san,” he declared, confident once more.

“What about dinner at my place tonight? We will be able to talk freely and I have just the right people to ask for a more in-depth counsel over this matter. I’m certain they’ll be able to clear whatever doubts could arise,” Takahiro quickly added, hoping it didn’t seem too pushy of him. He really didn’t have time to waste.

“It sounds good to me. Send me your address and the time, and I’ll show up on time.” Matsukawa nodded, picking up his folder full of charts and plans.

“I’ll make sure to let you know as soon possible, Matsukawa-san!” Takahiro exclaimed, closing the door behind him as Matsukawa-san exited from his office.

As soon as the door closed, he let himself fall to the ground.

Shit. There was no way he will waste an opportunity like this.

He scrambled a bit with the pocket of his pants and finally managed to get his phone out. He’d have preferred to keep them out of this whole mess, but he’ll need all the help he can get and there’s no way those two will mind their business when they’ll know about this.

He was already looking for a certain number in his contact list when his phone started ringing, Killer Queen blasting at the highest volume before he could do anything but press the button.

_ “Now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Matsukawa coming out of your office with a look like that, Makki -” _

_ “Shut it, Tooru, I need a favour…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Hanamaki drives a lot.


	2. Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, as warned, Hanamaki drives a lot.

“So…” Tooru began, spinning dramatically on one of Takahiro’s kitchen stools, “You wanna get married?”

Takahiro looked at him as if the word alone was enough to make him want to puke.

Tooru clicked his tongue, swinging back toward the kitchen counter.

Takahiro had invited everyone back to his flat for dinner, but he had also asked Tooru and Hajime to come way earlier than the time he told Matsukawa-san. He wanted a chance to discuss the whole thing in private with them, just he and his friends. That’s how they’d ended up gathered around the counter of Takahiro’s kitchen, he and Tooru bickering and jabbing at each other as usual, and Hajime - being the good soul that he’s - actually preparing something for dinner.   
He was glad to have them as his friends. He needed all the support he could get.

“You know this doesn’t help your situation, right?” Oikawa sipped loudly from his glass of Cherry Bitch, as if he hadn’t just casually stated something really obvious.  
That spiked tea was incredibly good. Hajime’s bartending classes were clearly paying off.  
It wasn’t fair to Hajime’s efforts that Takahiro wasn’t appreciating it as much as he should have.

“Oh my, Iwa-chan! This is too good! Quick!” he motioned in a stage whisper, ignoring the look he was getting from his husband. “Hide that pitcher before Makki can get another refill! He doesn’t deserve it!” 

“Makki can get whatever refill he wants since we are stealing his food,” Iwaizumi said. He chopped a few more vegetables and threw them in the pan, where a nice mix of spices and herbs was already starting to brown.

“But that’s how he’s paying for our counseling!” Oikawa protested, making grabby hands at the pitcher full of spiked ice tea. Iwaizumi hit him lightly on the back of his hand like a misbehaving child, but refilled his glass and left the pitcher close enough so he didn’t have to stretch too much to get it.

Takahiro took a long sip of his drink and watched the show roll in front of him. Those two could have been a perfect comedy duo. Really, they were wasted doing regular jobs at the company.

“He’s asking for a favour, he doesn’t need to pay us in any way.” 

“He’s asking for a favour he doesn’t really want-”

“That’s none of our business!”

“It is, Iwa-chan, since he’s asking us!” Oikawa exclaimed, clinking his glass vehemently on the counter. For a moment it was clear as the day that Iwaizumi was worried he might have broken it, but the other went on as if nothing had happened. “He could have asked Dai-chan and Suga-chan, but no! He came to us, looking for our expertise in such a delicate matter, because we are his most trusted-”

“Morons,” Takahiro snorted, facing Oikawa’s betrayed expression with a smug grin.

Iwaizumi did a poor job at hiding his grin. 

“You brought this upon yourself and you know it.”

He turned toward the stove before his husband could start declaring that Julius Caesar could have been the only one to know how he felt (this scene happened more than once, but it never got stale in Takahiro’s humble opinion. He felt like it was a classic of their repertoire), and Takahiro couldn’t help but snicker at the dramatic display.

He sipped his drink quietly once more. Oikawa was simmering in his own disdain, but it quickly melted away. The love in his eyes while he looked at his husband relaxing among pots and pans was almost palpable.

It was nice, watching them like that.

He’d known the both of them for a long time. Actually, he’d been friends with Oikawa long before Iwaizumi came into the picture (all those years of daycare spent together felt like a lot of time), but the first time he’d seen them together Takahiro knew this was the only outcome possible for them. They had always been a nice couple to look at. It was something that went beyond their good looks. It was relaxing and warm at the same time.

Maybe he couldn't exactly understand that the two kids playing together in the sandbox would get married in the next twenty years or so. But the way they just clicked was special, unique. He didn't feel left out either, he was just too amazed by what was happening in front of him.

With time passing and his knowledge of the both of them getting clearer, the thought nestled in his head like an unshakeable pillar.

There was no way they could fall in love with anyone else but each other. It was the only possible future for them. If there ever was a match made in heaven - or hell, depending from the situation - that was Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

Takahiro had been there since the early stages, when they were just clumsy kids, aggressively looking out for each other and always ready to just be there.  
He’d watched them grow up, grow past the first embarrassing stages of discovering their feelings for each other could be of a different sort beside friendship. He’d seen them work for it, to get past the stage of being just this terrified of ruining their friendship and stepping into a relationship.

When he heard people in the corridors at the office discussing about how Oikawa and Iwaizumi looked like a couple that never needed to make an effort to keep their relationship going, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing every single time.

Those two worked like mad to make things work. It wasn’t that there were too many difficulties, but if one got to know them, the first thing he’d notice was how much work, care and attention they paid to each other. 

They loved each other, they wanted to make the other happy no matter what the price and that was why Oikawa and Iwaizumi always tried to do their best for each other.

If there was anything he’d learned from watching his friends, it would be the endless work that a healthy relationship needed. It wasn't that they never argued, far from it actually, but they both worked hard to overcome the arguments and what was best for each other.  
It was effort at its best looking effortless because their love for each other trampled anything else that could come in between.

Takahiro had seen plenty of it by now, to the point he could confidently say he knew them pretty well. He had been the one to design their wedding rings after all. After all that time, he still couldn’t help but think that he’d made the more fitting choice. 

They had always been tightly wrapped around each other, getting nutrition and sustaining each other symbiotically, like vines full of flowers and bees, the same that dotted with precious gems and intricate beading their wedding rings. It was complicated and simple at the same time. Clean lines getting the message straight to the point. It was Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

He was quite proud of that work. He’d never done such a complicated design before, and certainly not for jewellery. It wasn’t his usual field of work, but for his friends he had accepted the challenge gladly.

Someone at the time had joked about him doing tryouts for his own wedding ring. The thing had left a foul aftertaste in his mouth. Those were probably the only wedding rings he’ll ever do. Not his own, nor anyone else’s. 

Hajime and Tooru were special. They had been there for him when he needed it the most and Takahiro would never thank them enough for their friendship along the years. He wanted to see them happy. When the law about marriage equality had finally passed in Japan it was with great joy that he had offered to do their wedding rings. It was right for them to get married. They loved each other in a way it wasn’t possible to imagine them as separated entities.

For him, that was not an option.

Marriage, a long relationship with someone… that wasn't something he'd ever considered to be within his reach. He had that conversation many times with his friends, but most of the time, he had been confronted with the blank look in his friends’ eyes. They simply couldn't get what it was for him. They just rolled on two very different binaries. It wasn't self-deprecation. It was just the way Takahiro saw himself. He knew who he was and where he stood. Relationships weren't his thing.

The thought that he'd have to be married soon… it was unsettling. It might have been easier to think about it as a partnership, but the word  _ marriage _ kept getting up in his head to remind him that all the premises for such a thing to happen weren't really there. He wasn't in love with his spouse-to-be. There wasn't any love between him and Matsukawa, far from it to be honest. There wasn't any excitement for the right reasons. The longing to be with the person he loved for the rest of his life wasn't there. The jitters, the joy he'd seen in the eyes of Tooru and Hajime while they planned their wedding wasn't there. Of course, he had been happy for his friends, but when it came to him he couldn’t feel any of that joy. 

And yet, despite him not wanting to admit it, he felt a little bit curious about the whole ordeal. 

It could have been anyone else in Matsukawa’s place but he felt a little bit comforted knowing it was him. It was hard as fuck to admit it, but the truth was this one, deep down in some part of his mind Takahiro didn't really want to delve in. They didn't love each other, there wasn't even the smallest bit of attraction between them. And yet the fact that it was indeed Matsukawa… it was incredibly comforting for some reason. 

It was like another one of his projects. He participated in them, most of the time as the main designer, but he still got to see them get together independently from his doing. He just watched them grow into beautiful things, only intervening when it was requested but not much otherwise.

Takahiro toyed with his glass a bit, still contemplating the idea that had been blossoming there since after Matsukawa left his office.   
  
He could just let this go on its merry way, as if he had never received that phone call. He could call Matsumoto-san, apologize for the inconvenience and tell him that he wasn’t actually married and he didn’t plan on getting married anytime soon. Everything that was mentioned in his Uncle’s will could go to his cousin since he didn’t have any rights to claim it, and he’ll just eventually forget about the whole thing. 

Bullshit. He knew himself. 

For the sake of his own sanity, it didn’t feel right to let everything disappear just like that. And somewhere deep within himself there was also a hidden thought that he was trying his best to push down and get it to disappear once again.

When the belldoor rang, Tooru jumped to answer it. Takahiro found himself placing the empty glass on the table to go to greet his guest. He could already hear Matsukawa’s deep voice from there. When he let Matsukawa in and gave him a pair of spare slippers, Takahiro somehow knew exactly what he was feeling as he observed Matsukawa’s back inspecting his surroundings. He was deadly curious.

*******

Dinner was a quiet, friendly affair. More so then what Takahiro had expected. He shouldn’t have been so surprised though, considering that at least two of them knew each other quite well. Iwaizumi and Matsukawa, being respectively in Management and Finance, had more than one occasion to work together thanks to the Design department. Apparently, they had a sort of office friendship going on, but contrary to what Takahiro expected, work was not only the catalyst for whatever conversation they started. Soon, they talked about nothing and everything, that new comedy program airing recently on tv, praising Iwaizumi’s cooking, sharing some office gossip, but nothing too significant in order to keep things amicable for everyone.

Takahiro contributed bits and pieces to the conversation here and there, but mostly, he contented himself with observing how Matsukawa interacted with both Hajime and Tooru. 

It was the most at ease he’d ever seen him while being in the same room as Takahiro.

He smiled freely and laughed when he was amused. He replied with enthusiasm and passion when talking about things that moved him deeply. He asked and inquired when curious or just for the sake of the conversation going on.    
  
Takahiro wasn’t sure how to frame him outside of his own verdict on the man, but he seemed like a perfectly normal person. So much that he found himself doubting his own judgment on Matsukawa.

When they got to dessert - a vast array of different-flavoured mochi Matsukawa had bought from a well-known patisserie - the light atmosphere from before came to an abrupt end.

Maybe it was in the pose Tooru had assumed, his hands casually folded together on the table, or in the way Hajime was quietly staring at Takahiro and Matsukawa on the other side of the table, as if waiting for something. 

It didn’t matter that they were still waiting for the tea to go with the sweets. Tooru’s eyes had that sharper light in them that meant business.

“So, where would you like to begin?” he asked, casually flicking his fringe away with a movement of his head.

There was a moment of silence and Takahiro for a moment thought he’d have to be the one asking questions, but Matsukawa beat him to it.

“How can we do this without disrupting our lives completely?”

Hajime patted Tooru on the shoulder and stood up. “That’s your cue, babe,” he declared as he went to the kitchen to take their tea.

“Well, in terms of law, you can have a prenuptial agreement and settle everything in advance, so in the case that you divorce, everything will already be taken care of,” Tooru began, matter-of-factly. “But if what you are asking is whether you can get out of this mess without having your asses kicked in the process, well, that’s a bit more complicated. Gay marriage is still something very peculiar in Japan,” he sighed, looking up at his left, where Hajime had come back with the tray and their tea.

“You’ll have to think everything through,” Hajime added.

“Since the beginning,” Tooru started explaining, “people had been very suspectful over gay marriage and its genuinity here in Japan. Most people still consider it as a way for companies and such to strengthen their ties. So it’s looked a lot more into than heterosexual marriage is.”

“What he’s saying is that you should be ready to put your life under a magnifying lens for whoever they’ll assign to your case,” Hajime said with a shrug of his shoulders as he handed the cups to everyone.

“What does this mean?” Takahiro was more than a bit put-off by this. He didn’t know if he was ready to have someone pry into his life that freely.

“It means that you’ll have someone performing weekly check-ups with the both of you, alone and together, just to verify you are actually married, in love with each other, and not in it for the money. They could decide to put hidden cameras into your house, to record your interactions, or they could make surprise visits. If you manage to convince them, you are good to live the rest of your lives together or something like that,” Hajime stated, taking a slow sip of his tea at Takahiro’s shocked face. “That’s what happens to every same-sex couple that decides to marry. We had to go through it too.”

Tooru grimaced a bit. “As if I’ll marry Hajime without love. Assholes.”

“That’s… they really can do all of that?” Takahiro asked.

“They can and they do. It isn’t all that surprising, considering how popular it still is to use marriage as a way to make powerful alliances. Gay marriage is just another possibility to do the same,” Tooru explained. He looked calm and collected but it was clear he hated every bit of that with all of himself.

His husband looked at him for a moment, before placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing a bit. The gesture seemed to have placated Tooru without adding anything else because his mouth was once again a quiet line.

Takahiro silently asked himself how he and Matsukawa would manage to fool anyone into thinking they were madly in love with each other. They’d never be able to behave so casually with each other like that.

This thing was down for failure. 

“We’ll just have to pretend really well, then, won’t we?”

Lost as he was in his thoughts, he had almost forgotten Matsukawa sitting at his side.  
The man had stayed silent for the whole explanation, looking at Iwaizumi and Oikawa without giving an inkling to what was going through his mind. His words, so clear and with no hint of hesitation, had sounded so loud in the silence.

Takahiro couldn’t help but nod, unable to escape Matsukawa’s steady gaze. He still thought it was impossible, but for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp he found himself believing what Matsukawa had said. As if they could actually do it.

  
  


*******

Takahiro was gripping the steering wheel with more strength than usual, but he couldn’t help but feel surprised every time he felt the slim white-gold band dig into his ring finger.

It was alien, foreign, it weighed like a ton, and yet when he had taken it off that morning to wash his face, Takahiro had felt it, the ghost-sensation of having a ring around his finger.

It was less than 48 hours since they added each other’s name on their family register and he was already feeling it.  
It was probably just a cruel trick of his mind - it couldn’t have been anything else, it was only barely more than two days since he had been married, and yet that sensation of being bound to another person… it didn’t sit well with him. There was no way he was already feeling the drag of the old ball and chain around his calves, but while he kept glancing from the rear mirror as Matsukawa - _ Issei  _ \- loaded their bags in the car trunk he couldn’t help but feel as if by putting a stamp on a stupid piece of paper he’d changed his life forever with no way of getting it back on its previous track. It was uncharted territory and it was already straying from its previous path with all the imperceptible adjustments they’ve worked upon in the last few hours. Takahiro was tied to Issei and the thought made him shiver.  
Without thinking, he switched the air vents on, basking in the warm air blasting through the small vents in front of him.

A lot better.

“Did you want to recreate the desert? If that’s it, I’d say you are doing a great job.”

Takahiro watched him as he strapped the seat belt on and closed off the vents in front of himself with a flick of his finger. He appreciated the fact Matsukawa -  _ Issei _ \- hadn’t asked him to switch the hot air off.

“So, how many hours is it from Tokyo to Kyoto?” 

“Five and a half.” 

Takahiro saw him startle from the comfortable position he had previously settled in. 

“And why the hell again didn't we take the shinkansen instead of being trapped inside this old piece of metal?” 

Takahiro only raised the music up and started the engine, concentrating on the road. He told him he liked to drive in silence, no small talk because he preferred to concentrate on the road before him.  
While Hanamaki focused on the road, Issei was just thinking that the guy was full of shit.  
He’d been woken up at the crack of dawn, a cup of coffee thrust in his hand and a lot of chatter about how much nicer it would be taking the car instead of reserving tickets for the bullet train. It wasn’t even a given that they could find some with such short notice, what a pity, at least Hanamaki owned a car and he was good enough to drive and had done the trip plenty of times… He had agreed. What a fool.

He lay against the backrest and decided he could at least enjoy the view outside, even if it was cloudy and grey.

It wasn’t that often that he got the chance to appreciate the postcard-worthy, hilly outline of the Japanese countryside, anyway.

It was more than a five hour drive from Tokyo to Kyoto, Issei had nothing but time.

He watched the buildings of Tokyo disappear quickly as they left Minato behind, people swarming through the streets and walking to the station to get their day started.

Up until a week ago, he’d lived not so far from the outskirts of Asakusa on the other side of the city. Moving to Hanamaki’s had been easier than expected. 

His home had been emptied much quicker than what it had taken him to fill it. All his stuff had been moved to his co-worker’s bigger flat on the edges of Minato or temporarily stored at friends’ houses.

He’d thrown a lot of things away too. It was too good of an occasion to not declutter a bit. He liked to keep his things to a bare minimum and he could certainly do without a few things he hadn’t been using in a while. It wasn’t like he’d been using the toaster in a while and Hanamaki already owned one. They didn’t need a second one.

He’d actually itched to break the subject of spaces and how it seemed the other owned a lot of unuseful things to Hanamaki the moment it had dawned upon him that he was going to live in that house for the near future, but their cohabitation was too fresh for something like that. 

Plus, it wasn’t like Issei would be a permanent fixture in Hanamaki’s life. Their fake marriage was a time-bomb they were sitting comfortably upon. It was set on a six-month deadline, but it could explode in their faces at every moment.

When he had accepted Hanamaki's proposition, he - maybe a bit too foolishly - hadn't thought the matter in depth. As in, really thought about it.  
The conversation they've had with Oikawa and Iwaizumi was the thing that had made him realize how much his life was about to change. It was no joke. By then though, Issei already felt like he couldn't go back on his word. By participating in the conversation that night and giving Hanamaki the possibility to explain to him why he was so eager to get married, he felt like he couldn't disappoint his expectations. Not even if it was Hanamaki's.  
As he played a bit with the gold band on his ring-finger, he tried to recall all the ways in which his life had changed in the span of a few days.

They had followed Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s instructions to the letter. 

One bed, because married couples didn’t sleep on single beds. Hanamaki had cleared some of his drawers and half of his wardrobe for him. His shoes had been placed at the entrance, neatly lined side by side with Hanamaki’s. His coat hung behind the door. His toothbrush was in the small holder next to the sink, in the bathroom. His books had been placed on the shelves, his favourite comforter was on Hanamaki’s couch. His favourite coffee mug was currently on the drying rack next to where Hanamaki’s had left his own to dry before they closed the house. They had made everything they could to give the impression that Issei lived there. Hell, they’d even slept in the same bed, side by side, fighting for the covers that night.

They had decided against changing their surnames - that would have been just weird - going instead for just adding the others name and sigil on their respective family registry. Now, they shared the very wordy name of Hanamaki-Matsukawa whenever they have to collectively talk about their household.   
How weird it was, thinking about sharing a house, a name, a life with someone else, even if it was only for such a short period of time.  
Hanamaki had made a point to shift every little thing from singular to plural.

Hanamaki had chided him more than once when he had accidentally referred to something as “his” and not “theirs.” Issei had yet to figure if he did so to actually chastise him, or if he had done so he could help himself remind it too.

He looked at the man currently driving. Hanamaki -  _ Takahiro _ , as he had insisted just that morning - had rolled his shirt’s sleeves up and was driving with one hand on the wheel, tense forearm almost as if he had to keep the thing from jumping out of the case. The contrast was striking, compared to the way his other hand was languidly resting on the stick, absentmindedly tapping against it along with the song.

His eyes were fixed on the road disappearing with every kilometre they left behind. His lips twitched sometimes, as if he was unconsciously keeping from muttering something out loud. And yet it seemed the most calm Issei had ever seen him.

It was so concentrated on the simple task of driving, that it seemed as if nothing could move him from the inner place of tranquillity he was in.

He drifted off as the first few rays of blinding light filtering through the clouds started hitting Hanamaki’s pale forearms.

*******

When he woke up again, the car had stopped and Issei felt disoriented for a moment, staring at the clean entrance of a combini sprouted in the middle of nowhere. He looked around, but Hanamaki was nowhere to be seen. There was nothing but the rice fields around them and, a bit far on the left, the highway.

He glanced at the watch on his wrist, confused. It seemed like Hanamaki had driven for almost three hours before deciding it was high time for a break.

He opened the door, hastily covering himself with the coat when the cold, humid air of early spring hit him. His legs protested when he stood after being cramped in the car seat for so long. As he paced a bit in the parking lot to regain sensibility, Hanamaki got out of the combini, a plastic bag hanging from his wrist and sipping on something piping hot, judging from the lazy tendrils of smoke rising from the cup in the cold.

Hanamaki walked towards him, thrusting the bag in his hands to him with little to no finesse, before going to check for something in the back of the car.

Issei yawned. “Where are we?” 

“A little bit over Shizuoka. I hope you don’t mind but I needed a break.”

Issei shrugged, as he pulled out of the bag a bottle of cold barley tea.He shucked the bag in the backseat of the car and closed the car door. He leaned against it, as he drank some tea from the bottle. He didn’t know he felt so parched until that moment. 

“You know…” Hanamaki began, standing by his side, “I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely fair to you this morning.”

Issei snorted. “You tricked me pretty good.”

Hanamaki shrugged, a barely-there smirk on his lips.

“We should get along, for the sake of this thing. Or at least pretend to get along."

“Haven’t we already decided about this?” 

“Yes, we did. But I feel like we should get to know each other a little bit better beside knowing by heart all the things we can’t stand from the other.”

“Well, that's as good a starting point as any other,” Issei chuckled. “But I get your point. If someone were to ask us things about each other, we'd be fucked.”

Hanamaki nodded, taking a sip of his hot drink. 

“I'll go first.” Issei declared, drinking one last time from the tea bottle and shucking that too in the backseat of the car. “I hate being woken up early.”

Hanamaki snorted, trying to hide his laugh behind the cup in his hand, “You know, I would have never guessed it. You looked ready to murder me this morning.”

Issei grinned at him, “Because I was. You know, I could already call this spousal abuse.”

Hanamaki laughed hard at that, shoving him lightly with his shoulder, before he started going toward the driver’s side of the car, “It’s not even two full days and you are already pinning all the abuse on me! You know I could say the same about you hogging all the covers tonight. My feet were freezing.”

“I think being woken up before there’s light outside outranks keeping some centimetres more of covers.”

“My feet don’t agree with this.”

“Your feet can go -”

Hanamaki was smirking at him expectantly from where he was perched with his arms on the car roof.  
That little shit.

“You know what? Let’s just stick to the getting to know each other part. We’ll discuss spousal abuse later.”

And with that, they both got into the car and on the road again.

Hanamaki was still driving and Issei was still on the passenger seat, but this time they were talking.

It was almost surreal how they were talking with little to no problem. Issei was convinced that their polite and easy conversation was that peaceful mostly because Hanamaki was driving and none of them wanted to crash for a stupid argument.

“Anniversary?”

“In 363 days” Issei answered smoothly. Hanamaki snorted.

They’d been quizzing each other with random things, mostly easy ones like music, books, favourite sports, and of course, food.

“Favourite food?”

“Creampuffs! But taiyaki is a close second. Especially those with whipped cream and sprinkles on top,” Hanamaki dreamily declared. 

“... Are you serious?” Issei looked at him. “I would have taken you for a more, I don’t know, sophisticated type. Like, soufflé?”

“Creampuffs are hella difficult to get right, I’ll have you know. Choux pastry has the tendency to go wrong when you least expect it, ” Hanamaki tutted. “Anyway, why did I give you that impression?”

“You are a designer. “ Issei shrugged, picking a cracker from the communal bag sitting between them. “I guess I thought you’d be into more complicated things.”

“Well, not all of us are complicated pricks, you know?” Hanamaki looked annoyed from the side glance addressed Issei’s way, and from that he knew he might have stomped on the thin ice their peace was threading on.

“That wasn’t what I was saying and you k-”

Hanamaki shushed him with a shrug of his shoulders, taking a deep breath. “I can’t deny I like to experiment with flavours... but I’m also really fond of the taste of traditional cooking.”

“See, not all of us are complicated pricks. What’s your favourite food?”

“Anything that has to do with meat. Especially a type of cheese-filled steak they do in a place near work.” 

Hanamaki nodded absentmindedly, too occupied to check the names on the road signs. He knew the road by heart, but it had been a while since he last came to visit and he didn’t want to take the wrong turn. He was so concentrated, he didn’t hear Matsukawa’s next question.

“Uhn? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“I asked you if you wanted to tell me something about your uncle. I know it’s not my business, but... it kinda is,” he said with an apologetic smile, wiggling his ring finger toward Takahiro.   
“I like to know why things happen, especially if it’s going to involve me too.”

Hanamaki doesn’t answer at first. For a while, it seemed like Issei would never get an answer.    
Hanamaki kept watching in front of him, the first road sign indicating the next exit for Kyoto came and passed, but Hanamaki just stared in front of himself without a word.

Issei observed him quietly, waiting. 

“... Who was your uncle to you?” Issei's voice was soft in the car.   
He watched Hanamaki, waiting patiently for an answer. It seemed like he had plucked the wrong chord here, judging from the way Hanamaki's grip on the wheel tightened, his eyes suddenly concentrated on something Issei couldn't see despite not having moved from the road in front of them.  
Issei could have said something, showed the fact that he'd recognized that something wasn't right with Hanamaki, but he chose to stay silent. He wasn't a nosey person normally, but he deserved at least an explanation. He'd done a poor job till know of actually opening up to him about his real reason over this whole elaborate scam, and Issei was tired of having to wrestle words from Hanamaki's tightly closed lips. He owed him at least this much.

Hanamaki took the first turn from the highway toward Kyoto.

“It has always been us. I mean, me and my mom. My dad… he wasn't in the picture.”

Issei waited, silent.

“Uncle Ryoutaro… He took care of us. Mom worked odd hours but it wasn't always enough for the both of us. Uncle didn't have any kids, I was his sister's kid… He gave her money for my education, took me in every summer for as long as possible so that mom could cram a little bit more of work and have a few months of respite during the year.”

The first houses of Kyoto’s suburbs started to appear at their left. Issei watched Hanamaki as he shrugged.

“I owe him a lot. He was a good uncle. He helped make me the man I am today. Without him… I would have turned out a much worse human being than what I am now,” he concluded with a lopsided smile that didn't really reach his eyes.

Issei snorted, sensing that barrier that Hanamaki was slowly building between them. Just a little bit thicker than what it was before. 

“So I owe him a lot too, if he kept you from being worse than this. If that is even possible.”

“You could say.” 

Silence stretched between them. The houses started to grow into neighbourhoods and little by little they got into Kyoto. The atmosphere inside the car wasn't exactly cold, but it wasn't even friendly. Hanamaki had seemed to shut him out with those last words.

Issei didn't pry over for the rest of their trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you Frankie for your support and your unparalleled beta skills. This chapter would look a lot worse if it wasn't for your precious advice.  
> Thank you to all those who've read chapter 1 and now went on with chapter 2, for all the support that you've already showed to this fic of mine through kudos, comments and subscriptions. You are all amazing.  
> As always, kudos, comments and subscriptions feed my muse so I appreciate every single one of them.  
> If you wanna chat a bit about this fic of mine, Matsuhana shenanigans and what I will have for breakfast, come look for me on twitter and tumblr @kayejwrotes.
> 
> → In the next chapter: Kyoto is actually a lively city.


	3. Third

He should have known it would be like this. Issei felt out of place. An intruder. He was technically Hanamaki’s husband, thus he should have been involved as much as him, but in this precise moment, the only thing he wanted was to get the fuck away from that place. 

Hanamaki had been tense since that morning. It was understandable. It was expected. 

Their trip wasn't one of leisure. They had a purpose for coming to Kyoto, despite the calm beauty of the city almost made him forget about it. The easygoing atmosphere from the night before couldn’t last.

He hadn’t asked Hanamaki where they were going to stay for the next couple of days before coming to Kyoto. He’d thought that Hanamaki would’ve preferred staying at his Uncle’s house, and yet he’d been surprised to see him go instead toward Shinbashi Dori.

They had settled at a quiet ryokan in one of the central streets of Kyoto, a two-story traditional building, who cheerily advertised their original Kyoto kaiseki cuisine. At their entrance, they’d been greeted warmly by Hanamaki's cousin, the owner of the ryokan, and all the sudden coldness from before had disappeared from Hanamaki's face at that. His enthusiasm was genuine when hugging Yotaro and his wife Konatsu. It seemed like the two hadn't met in a while but the happiness of seeing each other again was etched into the thin lines at the edge of Hanamaki's crinkled eyes while he smiled and talked animatedly to Konatsu, asking about the ryokan, about the kids, and laughing heartily with Yotaro. All that enthusiasm was contagious. Matsukawa had surprised himself relaxing next to Hanamaki while having dinner.

Yotaro-san had insisted on joining them for “old time's sake,” as he had said to Hanamaki, but even having to play the part of the just-married couple in front of him hadn't been that terrible. They actually had a lot of fun teasing each other and being obnoxiously lovey-dovey in front of his cousin. Every time Issei had put a hand on Hanamaki's thigh while leaning on the table, or whenever Hanamaki fed him something with his chopsticks because “ _ you have to try this Issei _ ,” they couldn't help but snicker seeing Yotaro-san blush up to the tips of his hairline at their antics.

Later, they had even shared a peaceful moment into the private onsen annexed to their room. From the hidden patio of the pool, they could see the inner garden, lush greens and dark stones, shining gold and orange in the light of the lamps disseminated here and there to light the path that leads to the communal onsen below. The water was warm and gentle on their bodies while, from time to time, they sipped warm sake from the small pot that had been left there as a gift by Yotaro-san.

All the thoughts of what was waiting for them the next morning had been put aside for the night. All the animosity between them stopped in favour of enjoying the moment. 

He missed last night at this moment.   
  
“Thank you for being here today. I really appreciate how you took away precious time from your busy schedules in order to honour Ryoutaro-san’s memory.” 

The voice of the old lawyer jerked Issei back to the present, where he was sitting next to a rigid Hanamaki on the tatami of Matsumoto-san’s house. The lawyer had generously offered his own house as the place to read Ryoutaro-san’s will. It seemed like the powerful calligraphy mounted on the wall behind them was a gift of Ryoutaro-san, or so Hanamaki had murmured to Issei when they had entered the room.

Hanamaki’s cousin was already sitting in front of the low table placed in the middle of the room. Matsumoto-san, waiting calmly behind the desk, had lit up when he had seen him and Hanamaki coming in. They had sat at the right, the closest to the open shoji where warm, spring light filtered through the small garden outside, the farthest Hanamaki could manage from his cousin. The meeting hadn’t even started yet and Issei was already hoping it would be short. 

Tea had been served. Only after Matsumoto-san had finished his first cup had he started talking. 

“Since the will has already been read a few days ago and my assistant sent you a copy by email, Hanamaki-san, I don’t think it is necessary to actually go through it again. If you agree with me, I believe it will be sufficient to say that all financial and patrimonial possessions of Hanamaki Ryoutaro-san will go to his only listed heir, his  younger sister ’s son, Hanamaki Takahiro-san, lest he complies with what stated before.”

Issei looked at Hanamaki as he nodded stiffly to the lawyer. From where he was sitting, he could see the piercing, calculating gaze of his cousin as he looked at them. Like a reptile, he was studying them with no hint of shame. Quietly, he lifted his hand and placed it over Hanamaki’s, gently squeezing it in his own. Takahiro looked at him, and at that moment, Issei managed an encouraging smile. Under his palm, he felt Hanamaki’s hands tightly gripping the small folder in which they had placed all the paperwork they could need.

Matsumoto-san smiled brightly. “Well since it seems like we all agree, may I see your marriage certificate?”

From the other side of the table, Issei noticed Maruichi’s smug grin becoming even wider if possible, as he looked straight at them. If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t want to be disrespectful to Matsumoto-san, he’d have already socked the man in his face. And he probably wasn’t the only one, judging from how Hanamaki was tense next to him.

Hanamaki was holding the folder in his hands, but for some reason, instead of his hands unclenching and extending the thing to the lawyer, Issei felt them get tighter and tighter.  
He’d seen Hanamaki mad at him many times during meetings, their shouting matches in their offices were famous, but this was uncharted territory.    


He didn’t know how to deal with such a furious, silent Hanamaki.

Issei searched his eyes, trying to jerk him out of that state, but when he felt the paper crinkle in Hanamaki’s hands, he realised it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Gently, he caressed Hanamaki’s hands with his own. The man wasn’t looking at him, eyes fixated on the smug look his cousin was giving them, but with a bit of force, Issei managed to get his fingers under Hanamaki’s palms and wrench the folder from his grasp.

“Here, Matsumoto-san, please,” Issei said, handing him the folder, his voice resonating for the first time in the room since they had gotten there.

That seemed to jerk Hanamaki awake from the state he had gotten in before.

Matsumoto-san hadn't noticed what had happened or didn't seem concerned by it. Issei couldn't really tell. Maruichi’s grin grew bigger from the other side of the table, as if ready for this farce to be revealed for what it was as he stared at Issei. But Issei just looked at him with a calm expression. 

That was the part he was the least worried about because he and Hanamaki were married for real.  
The paper was perfectly legal, taken and signed from the town hall, no hint of forgery on them. Tooru had triple-checked everything before letting them put their seals on that marriage certificate.

The lawyer paged briefly through the documents and gave it back with a satisfied hum.

"Well, I believe congratulations are in order then," he said, smiling to Issei, who tried his best to nod and smile too, despite Hanamaki still being rigid and stiff as one of the rocks in the garden outside. He didn't react at all. Under Issei's hand, his own was still a trembling fist ready to punch without the folder grounding him.

"Since everything seems in order, I ask Hanamaki-san to please sign these papers so that I can officially hand over all Ryoutaro-san's possessions to you."

Issei was ready to step in, in some way, to physically jerk Hanamaki alive again because he had to fucking sign the paperwork and then they could all go the fuck out of that horrible situation, but it wasn't necessary.

Weirdly, the paper appearing in his field of vision was enough to jolt him back to life, taking him back into the present again. Issei watched as Hanamaki mechanically took his personal seal out from his jacket’s pocket and covered it expertly in ink from the pad Matsumoto-san offered him, quickly pressing it on the paper in front of him. He capped it swiftly after that, storing it back in his breast pocket as if all the tension of before had never existed.

As he looked at Maruichi's fuming face as he watched the whole thing, Issei couldn’t think about how long till they could all get away from that damned place.

******

In the end, they exchanged a few more pleasantries with Matsumoto-san, and Hanamaki’s fury was nowhere to be seen as he smiled affably to the old man. Maruichi had excused himself shortly after the papers were signed with a curt, tight smile for Matsumoto-san, no words spared for the newly-wed couple, but Issei was certain that this wouldn’t be the last he’d hear about the man. The look he’d given Hanamaki right before walking out of the room had been a concentrate of hatred, annoyance, and - what Issei feared the most - the promise of retribution. He filed all that away for later, when he’d be far away from Kyoto and back in Hanamaki’s apartment in Tokyo. He’d be able to ask more questions, and they could plan what to do after this point. They hadn’t yet had an in-depth conversation about the “after” of this meeting with Matsumoto-san. Issei wasn’t sure if it was because they weren’t even sure that their little stunt would go through without a hitch, despite all of it being perfectly legal. Deep down, Issei knew that up until right now, he had been thinking that everyone could see how much not-in-love he and Hanamaki were. And yet they’d somehow fooled everyone until that moment. Except for Maruichi. But that wasn’t a thing to think about right at the moment.

Right now, he had a more pressing matter to his hands, meaning Hanamaki and his murderous, furious, mood. When they’d been in the meeting, for a moment, Issei thought that Hanamaki had been really close to jumping over the table and actually punching his cousin right in his smug face, if it weren’t for the fact that Issei had been holding Hanamaki’s hand tightly.

He’d thought that now that they were free of Maruichi’s presence, Hanamaki’s mood would take a lighter turn. As soon as they went out of Matsumoto-san’s home, Issei had taken a deep breath of relief before taking out a battered packet of cigarettes from his jacket and a lighter, hoping to dispel some of his own tension that way. He was ready to offer one to Hanamaki too - the man rarely smoked, but during crunch time they had both used the smoker’s only area provided by their company more than once, so it had seemed a good idea - but he’d stopped mid-gesture when he saw the expression on Hanamaki’s face.

All the nice smiles he’d been able to show Matsumoto-san just a few moments ago had disappeared once again, leaving only a heated, furious look in his eyes that made Issei want to take a step back. He’d never seen Hanamaki that angry. And Issei had thought he had some sort of championship title as “Best one at pissing off” the man.

What he’d seen before was nothing compared to what was showing on Hanamaki’s face now. He seemed ready to tear down whoever talked to him first. Issei didn’t want to be that person, but it was only the two of them outside Matsumoto-san’s house. And Issei wasn’t a coward.

“Thank God this meeting is over…” he tried, lighting his cigarette quietly. His tone is even, despite being very much aware of every single one of Hanamaki’s movements, or lack thereof.

No answer from the man. 

“... should we go back to the ryokan now, or should we take a-” he tried again in a lighter tone, but Hanamaki’s deep voice interrupted him.

“Sorry. Kinda have some stuff to take care of first.”

“What kind of stuff-” 

But before he could even finish asking, Hanamaki was already walking away and leaving Issei on the street with his cigarette halfway between his lips. Issei was torn between letting him go like that and shouting something to call him back. By the time he decided, however, Hanamaki was already gone, and Issei was alone, quite miffed at being left by himself with no explanation whatsoever once again.

There, on the front of Matsumoto-san’s house, with the folder still under his arm and his half-smoked cigarette still lit, all the good reasons he had for hating Hanamaki suddenly came back to him after he’d managed to put them aside in those few days spent together.

There wasn’t anything to do. He’d been abandoned in the middle of the suburban part of Kyoto with no hint on how to get back to their ryokan, since he’d been too busy sleeping on the taxi drive there on another early morning.

Hanamaki had asked the taxi driver to take them there and that was it. He had no idea on how to go back toward the more touristy part of Kyoto and, yet, the thing that was annoying him the most wasn’t this. Not that this wasn’t annoying by itself.    


What had him so irritated was the fact that Hanamaki hadn’t even thought about thanking him for all the damage control he’d been able to do that morning. Not even a half-assed “thank you.” Not that Issei would ever admit he’d actually like to hear Hanamaki thank him, but… it would have been nice, considering how difficult the morning had been so far. The man had just told him he had  _ stuff _ to take care of -  _ stuff!  _ \- and then left him like an idiot on the side of the road. With no idea of where he actually was, no taxis in sight, and lots of steam to let out. It was infuriating. 

Flicking away the butt of his burnt cigarette, he started walking toward what he hoped was the right direction, the folder with all their marriage documents under his arm, wondering if a barely three-days marriage would still be legal if he were to divorce Hanamaki’s sorry ass right now. Just to make a point. Not because he was petty. Not at all.

In the long list of things he couldn’t stand about Hanamaki, the lack of communication was up among the top five, he concluded as he walked through back roads and empty streets flourishing with old, wooden buildings. Hanamaki only shared whatever he deemed worth sharing with him, and only if it was necessary. Issei often wondered if Hanamaki was that tight-lipped with his friends too, or if it was something especially reserved for him and only on special occasions, since the man seemed to enjoy sharing whatever thoughts he had about Issei, regardless of his presence.

The really important things though, those were never relayed to him by Hanamaki’s lips. It was always by someone else. It was annoying when it was only in regards to work - it caused so many problems during the years - but now that it was about, well, being married and all the things that came with it… Issei felt frustrated.

Hanamaki had asked to get married because Issei was reliable. And yet, Hanamaki kept him at bay in situations like this when Issei could have helped, if not by solving the problem, at least by acting as a sounding board for whatever rant Hanamaki needed to let out.

Maybe, if Hanamaki had enough… faith? trust? He didn’t even know what the right term was but Issei believed it could be something among those two. Anyway, if only Hanamaki decided to just let it all out for once with him, Issei was convinced that even their office relationship could improve exponentially.

In the end, going around without knowing the destination was the right thing to do, because when he finally got by roads that seemed familiar, his legs felt tired, ready to get to the ryokan and soak into the onsen, his thoughts nothing but a faint memory of the irritation from before, the act of walking having eased his mind.

When he finally got back to their ryokan, it was already a few hours in the afternoon, a half-finished cold barley tea bottle in one hand and a new hairpin for his mother in a cute package in his pocket. He’d yet to tell his parents anything about his impromptu marriage, even if it would be beneficial in getting his mom off his back in regards to the usual tirade -  _ “Issei you aren’t getting any younger, all your peers are getting married, you are a beautiful boy, maybe I should help you find a good wife for you-”  _

He hoped, at least, that the elegant hairpin he’d found would be of some help in sweetening the news of the fact that he had gotten married without telling anything to anyone. But it’s wishful thinking. Issei wasn’t that naive of a son, but it was worth a try.

Konatsu-san greeted him with a welcoming smile when he entered the ryokan, but when he inquired about Hanamaki -  _ Takahiro, dammit -  _ her smile faltered a bit.

“He isn’t back yet, isn’t he?” Issei asked with a sigh. Really, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe Hanamaki had already ditched him and gone back to Tokyo without telling him anything.

“Ah… I’m sorry Matsukawa-san, but it seems Takahiro-kun is still out. We haven’t seen him since you went out this morning.”

“Trouble in paradise already?” Yotaro’s head peeked from behind the partition of the reception, and Issei wondered how much of the situation Yotaro had actually guessed.   


The man was a funny one. He ran a famous establishment, a ryokan that apparently had been in the family for generations, and yet he seemed the careless, layabout type, only good at making everyone laugh and stirring trouble if one were to listen to him and his wife bickering.   
And yet, looking at Yotaro-san’s right now, Issei couldn’t really tell whether it was only one side of him, or not. He seemed too attentive of a host to be a good-for-nothing husband as Konatsu had reprimanded him more than once the night before.

“Let’s say it’s trouble. It was never paradise to begin with but… I guess I wasn’t expecting it to go this way right from the beginning,” Issei sighed as Yotaro-san ushered him in the backroom.

Stepping behind the partition separating the backroom from the reception, an old radio with someone howling rakugo at a laughing audience sat on a low table. Flat pillows as old as the tatami in the room were surrounding it. Yotaro-san took two beers out of a mini-fridge behind himself and sat them on the table in front of where Issei had just plopped on the tatami, the folder with all their marriage bureaucracy left somewhere on the floor beside him.

Yotaro was more perceptive than he let on, Issei mused as the man opened the beer for him.   
They clinked the two bottles together with a subdued “cheers!” and took a long swig. The cold beer was heaven after the long walk Issei had taken around Kyoto.

Seeing an ashtray on the table, he took out a cigarette for himself and offered one at Yotaro, who took it with a thankful nod. They both took some time to light up and inhale the smoke before any of them talked.

“You know,” Yotaro said at some point, “Marriage shouldn’t be paradise. I’m actually surprised you lasted so long with Taka.”

Issei looked at him questioningly.

“He’s like that,” Yotaro continued. “Whatever he has done to you know, whatever happened this morning, don’t take it too personally, okay? He’s always been like that,” he added with a shrug, flicking some cinders from the cigarette in the ashtray.

“Like what?”

“Like that. A raggedy, hissing cat, that runs away without telling anything to anyone and comes back a few days later as if nothing ever happened.”

Issei snorted at the imagery. “I can see that. Kind of. He stormed off on me this morning right after the meeting with Matsumoto-san and Maruichi-san without saying a single word.”

Yotaro nodded. “He needs his space from time to time. He goes away, takes a breather, and it’s back, good as new. But I guess that at this point, you know him better than me on this matter, don’t you?”

Issei looked at him and he could swear that they both knew in that moment that Yotaro had found them out and had decided to do nothing to call them out on their bullshit. Layabout, good-for-nothing, my ass, he couldn’t help but think. 

“Yeah, sure… I just wished he’d told me where he’s going before disappearing on me like that.”

Yotaro grinned at that, taking another sip from his beer bottle, “Oh, don’t worry too much about him, he’s gonna be fine. I bet he still goes to the same place when he wants to disappear for a bit.”

“And that would be?” 

Pointing a finger at him, as if lecturing him, Yotaro declared, “Taka, being the scaredy-cat that he is, well, he’s a creature of habit. When we were kids he always disappeared behind a certain fabric shop at the end of the neighbourhood. I don’t know why, but he always came back calmed down from whatever had pissed him off, after a few hours.”

“To be honest, it doesn’t sound like a place he’d go to…” Issei looked at him, puzzled at this new insight to his husband’s inner workings.

“I know, right?” Yotaro beamed, finishing the rest of his beer and standing up as he heard some voices from the reception. “He always came back all calm and chill though, smelling like fried octopus.”

“And I guessed he acts as nothing happened,” Issei muttered, taking another sip of his beer, an idea forming in his head as he watched Yotaro-san walking to the partition that divided the back room from the reception.

“Precisely.” The man gave an amused grin, before disappearing on the other side to loudly welcome his guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Coming on chapter 4: a long, overdue trip through Takahiro's memory lane._
> 
> Also, kudos to all of you if you got where Konatsu and Yotaro characters come from (unfortunately, they aren't mine, they are au version of already existing characters that I love very much).
> 
> Well, what can I say? If you have come so far, hello! You've reached the unexplored land of chapter 3, The Unpublished one!  
> I hope you enjoyed it, and if that's the case, leave a comment, they feed my muse and my need for approval! XD  
> Also, we have reached the heady number of 43 subscribers! This is amazing! The fact that there are people waiting to get the email with my update every month amazes me every time. It's such a good feeling!  
> Thank you everyone for your support!


	4. Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takahiro comes back.

When Takahiro finally made it back to the ryokan, the moon had already taken its place in the sky and he was feeling exhausted. The only thing he wanted to see in the near future was the futon in which to faceplant. He just wanted to stay there for at least a full day and forget all about his problems with his family, Maruichi, his husband-  _ Issei _ … 

While he was getting back through all the winding back-alleys that only a Kyoto native would know how to navigate, the thought of a furious Issei kept popping out from time to time, among other things.

Takahiro wasn’t sure of what he wanted to do with that.

At the entrance of the ryokan, Yotaro was reading a book, perched on a stool that was old as the place itself. Takahiro could smell in the air the faint remnants of long-gone smoke. He looked tired but grinned anyway. Konatsu must have been gone for a while from her spot at the reception where she usually greeted the guests. Otherwise, she would have skinned her husband alive if she had caught him smoking at the entrance.

Yotaro lifted his eyes from the page he was reading to look at Takahiro, not surprised in the least at seeing him getting back so late. 

“You smell like you have been frying fish all day,” he said.

“You smell like smoke, but I won’t tell Konatsu-san if you won’t tell Issei,” Takahiro quipped back with no shame.

“No need to. You do smell like fried fish, Taka. Everyone could get it with their eyes closed.” Yotaro shrugged with a knowing look.

“Oh, someone is in a good mood tonight it seems, isn’t it?” 

They stared at each other for a while, Takahiro leaning against the reception counter, Yotaro sitting on his stool. With every passing second, Takahiro could feel all the tiredness inside slipping through the careful boundaries he'd built around himself, like cotton stuffing through uneven stitches, now in the open for Yotaro to pick apart and rummage through as he saw fit. The man was too attentive to let something like that slide under his nose unnoticed.

With a heavy sigh, Yotaro stood up, placing his book down. He uses an origami crane folded from some random receipt to mark the page. Retrieving a pack of cigarettes from under the counter, he said, "Come on. I need a breather. Keep me company, little cousin."

"I'm just a few months younger," Takahiro grumbled, following Yotaro outside nonetheless. On the side-wall of the ryokan, right next to the entrance, there was a bamboo bench that had been there since they were little. They sat there, side by side, and in that moment Takahiro suddenly felt old, tired, stretched thin.

That bench has been there for as long as he could remember. He had spent endless summers on that bench, with Uncle Ryoutaro and Yotaro, small mountains of shaved ice with blue and red syrup slowly melting in the cups in their hands. It was from a time when he could kick his feet back and forward because they didn't reach the pavement yet whenever he sat on the bench. It was from a time where the biggest problem he had was badly scraping a knee and ripping his new shorts. In the days long past, Takahiro thought about that bench as an “old men's bench.” Uncle’s friends sat there, smoking, laughing, talking about boring things, and complaining about their wives, their cars breaking down, the disgrace their sons were. He didn’t want to think about what it could mean now that he was the one sitting on it, his feet safely planted on the pavement, no more room to dangle them from the edge and instead of shaved ice, a cigarette between his fingers.

They both let themselves fall on the bench, a nasty creak making them regret the action instantly, but the bench kept doing its work. Yotaro and Takahiro lit up their cigarettes, slow puffs of smoke coming out in a steady pattern after just a few moments. The silence stayed with them for a while. Passersby walking in the streets didn’t give them a single look, and for a while, Takahiro contented himself with the idea that maybe there won't be any other talking involved, other than eavesdropping on the conversations of the strangers passing in front of them. He knew though that it was just an empty hope. Yotaro was always looking out for him, even when Takahiro would rather be left by himself, even when he didn’t want to be looked after.

It was just a matter of who’d break the subject first, but before he went to bed tonight, he knew Yotaro would have wrenched whatever was going on his mind from his lips. 

So Takahiro started talking without being prompted, in a way that felt too much like ripping off a bad applied band-aid. 

"I went home today."

Even as he said that, he could feel the pull to that place. He'd only lived there in the summer, short periods through the years, and yet that place has always felt more like home than anything else.

"How was it?"

Takahiro sighed, smoke following his words. "Beautiful as always. The garden has grown a little wild by now, but it's still beautiful. I tried fixing some of the easier things while I was there."

A few moments passed, smoke rising lazily in between their cigarettes. 

“Did you manage to fix anything?”

Takahiro chuckled, relaxing his head against the still-warm façade of the ryokan where the sun had been hitting it since the morning. “As if. I’ve always been the worst at tending to that garden. I’m only good at pulling out weeds and watering some of the easier plants. I might have to hire a gardener for taking care of it,” he pondered, almost as an afterthought.

“You don’t want to though, do you?” Yotaro asked, side-eyeing him as if he already knew what Takahiro would say.

“I don’t know. I mean, I can’t possibly look out for that garden like Uncle Ryoutaro would. I’ve no talent for it. But at the same time, I don’t want to leave that work to someone else. I feel like that's something Uncle would want me to do it.”

“I don’t think Uncle would be disappointed if you decided to leave the tending part of gardening to someone else,” Yotaro said, flicking away some stray cigarette ashes that had landed on his knee.

“I don’t know… I feel like it would be the right thing to do, though.”

Silence stretched again among them, but it was a comfortable kind of silence. One that’s for gathering thoughts and finding the perfect words. Usually, it was the kind of silence where you had no words too.

“Have you tried talking about it with Issei?” It was the logical thing to ask. Yotaro had only wanted to know what everyone else would have asked, and yet, Takahiro found himself getting irritated by the question. 

On some basic, instinctual level, he would have liked to reply right away that it was none of Issei's business. They were married, but only on paper. Issei was still but a stranger to Takahiro. He didn’t need to involve him in such things. Yet, it was expected of him to include his husband in those kinds of decisions, even if he wanted to keep them to himself. What an insufferable situation.

“I know it could sound weird because as wife and husband we are always at war,” Yotaro added, probably sensing something wasn't right with Takahiro in regards to Matsukawa, “But most of the time, it helps me talk to Konatsu whenever I don’t know what to do.”

“Me and Issei… We are not that way-”

“Oh, I noticed! You didn’t even have sex last night,” Yotaro commented casually, flicking away the butt of his cigarette with nonchalance.

“Wh- What the hell Yotaro?! How can you be so sure! I - You don’t know, you shitty -” Takahiro sputtered, blushing furiously. He could feel the red creeping up from his neck toward his cheeks, a dead giveaway for Yotaro that he was actually right.

Yotaro was looking at him with a knowing grin, one hand braced on his knee as he leaned forward to whisper smugly, “Who do you think changes your futons and empties your waste bins?” 

“You fucking creep! Stay away from my trash!” Takahiro shoved him away while Yotaro laughed hard, uncaring of the passersby staring at two adult men behaving like kids. Takahiro had never felt as embarrassed as in this moment, coming to the realisation of all the times when he had - well, you know  _ what _ \- with some past fling in the room above the ryokan (it had always been The Room for such things when they were horny teenagers and needed a place to get cozy with boyfriends and girlfriends), and his cousin always knew because he had given a look to what was there in the trash bin.

“Oh, come on!” Yotaro patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not like anyone could blame you, with what you had to do this morning.”

Any kind of blushing that was happening on Takahiro’s cheeks suddenly faded into nothingness at the thought of that morning. He felt more serious at the mere thought of the meeting.

Yotaro seemed to have noticed how much his words had changed the light atmosphere too.

“Taka… I didn’t want to insinuate that you or Issei-san are having problems or anything because you didn't have-”

“Great. Because we are not. Having problems I mean.”

“No, no, of course… But you should talk to him, really...” Yotaro scratched his head sheepishly. “Taka, you should have seen him when he came back this afternoon.”

“What about that?” Takahiro asked, suspiciousness and curiosity mixing dangerously in his words, because it could be just another thing that Yotaro was saying to rile him up. Or that he thought it could rile him up.

“He was angry with you. That was for sure. But he was also worried. A lot.”

Takahiro let the thought sit in his mind for a moment. He really doubted that Matsukawa had been worried about him. Probably more pissed off at how he had left than worried. Yotaro must have mistaken the two, filtering the situation through the lenses of a non-existent happy marriage.

“Did he talk to you about what happened?” he asked carefully, trying to gauge more than the words Yotaro and Matsukawa had shared.

“Not really, but he was worried. Something about some lack of communication... Sounds familiar to you?” Yotaro replied, glancing at him as if he already knew the answer to that. Which was probably true, considering how long they had known each other.

“Can’t hear you!” Takahiro shushed him, childishly covering one ear with his hand, trying to steer the conversation by, well, being an idiot. If all that Matsukawa had done was complain about him, he really didn't feel like listening to him. Nothing new in that department. Apparently, Yotaro wasn't of the same mind. 

“Stop being a little shit and listen to the advice of someone married to Konatsu of all people.” On those words, Takahiro actually looked at him. Konatsu was peculiarly tight-lipped whenever there was something she didn't want to talk about. Most of the discussions he had overheard between her and Yotaro were actually about how she didn't need to keep secrets from him. All those arguments had had varied degrees of success from what he knew, but they seemed a lot more balanced right now than what they were in the past, 

“If you want to make this marriage work you must talk to your partner. No more running off behind the takoyaki stall on Shinbashi Dori.”

“You really wanna deprive me of the few joys my life has to offer, huh. And you could talk to rocks, Yota, so I don’t think you and Konatsu can exactly qualify as proper marriage examples.”

Yotaro snorted. “That’s true, but it doesn’t make communication any less important. You gotta talk with Issei, Taka. Express yourself! Let your emotions out-!”

“... I hate you so much.” Takahiro’s suffering just seemed to amuse Yotaro even more, but he didn’t do anything to block his advice, since, well, it’s good advice as far as relationships go. If it wasn’t for the teeny tiny fact that his and Issei’s relationship was only a matter of convenience, Takahiro might even consider taking it seriously. 

Maybe.

*******

When he got back to their room, the moon was high in the sky and the ryokan was silent. The chilly air outside brought with itself the last dredges of summer before autumn hit in full, covering the streets in rain and fallen leaves. It had been an incredibly warm and long summer, but now that wearing a jacket was becoming comforting and not just an insufferable chore, Takahiro found himself grateful for it, even if right now he felt chilled to the bone and wanted to throw himself in the scalding hot onsen’s water. It was only the fear of falling asleep in it that made him refrain from taking a dip, clothes discarded along the stone path like a savage and splashing noises all around just to annoy everyone else. It would have been worth it, even if it was just to make Yotaro mad.

Instead, he took the long path back to their room,

The corridors were deserted, the last people from the pools already back and tucked away in their rooms. It was only Takahiro, the faint humming of the vending machines and the soft, chilly air seeping through the closed shoji, separating the corridor from the garden outside. He went to the vending machine, rummaged for some coins into his pants’ pocket and came up with a mismatched handful of 200 yen coins. 

There was a hot cocoa-flavored coffee can and Takahiro gave his 200 yen coin to the machine for it. It wasn’t like he even wanted something to drink, but waiting for the loud dropping of the can into the bin, taking all the sweet one-minute shaking required for the drink to become actually warm before drinking… If he was stalling, no one was around to call him out on it. 

Takahiro took a sip from the overly sweetened coffee and began his slow pacing along the corridors. He’d take all the time in the world to drink that coffee.

It was stupid, really. He didn’t owe anything to Issei. Not an explanation, not a word about what he had done that afternoon after leaving him high and dry on the street. And yet, he did feel a tiny bit ashamed at himself. Just the faintest bit, really.

Because among the prospect of an angry discussion with Matsukawa, the memory of his anger-filled hand, being enveloped into Matsukawa’s arms… it was there. A reminder that the other man had tried to help him, even if it was just in order to avoid making a scene at Matsumoto-san’s place. He didn’t have to do any of that, and yet he had tried to help Takahiro out, to let him know he was there for him.

What Takahiro wouldn’t have wanted to admit, not even under the threat of torture, it was that now he felt he kind of owed something to Matsukawa. If not a proper apology - which he loathed to think about - at least talk about some sort of compromise, some way to let the other know he had acknowledged the gesture and was grateful for it.

Of course he hadn’t the faintest idea on how to do that. The thought of thinking about it wasn’t appealing by itself, and to think that in some way or another he was kind of stuck with Matsukawa for the next future… it made him feel as if the ground between them was uneven. Takahiro felt at a disadvantage and it was all his fault for not being able to control his emotions before.

Still, admitting to owing something to Matsukawa -  _ Issei, dammit! _ \- wasn’t that easy to do. Takahiro was a fighter. He didn’t like to concede anything, and being thankful for Issei’s help came a little too much closer to yelding.

The last trickle of coffee on his tongue tasted of burnt sugar and swallowed pride. 

There was nothing else to do now but walk back into his room and sleep next to his husband in their joined futons. Takahiro tossed his can into the bin, squared his shoulders and walked the corridors until the door of their shared room appeared in front of him.

At least, he hoped Issei was already asleep and snoring too loud to hear him getting in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next chapter: There's something slippery on the floor._
> 
> Hello everyone!   
> Almost late to post this chapter, but life is quite unpredictable.   
> Lately, I've been feeling a bit down. I try to keep my fics and tl void about everything COVID because we all have enough of those for the rest of our days, but it's almost impossible to escape - even if just for a few hours - from it in Italy lately.   
> I've got close friends and family getting covid lately, and all my thoughts are with them and their families.  
> This fic, though, helps me relieve that stress for a bit and think of brighter times to come. I hope it will do the same to you all too. <3
> 
> Lots of love and stay safe! <3
> 
> P.s.: As always kudos and comments feed my muse and I enjoy quite a lot talking with you all. Leave a comment if you want or come chat with me on tumblr/twitter @kayejwrotes. I'll probably release something for chapter five early!  
> Also, I'd love to know what you think about my take on Takahiro and Issei. :D  
> PPS.: I've a curiouscat too now! Send me questions about virtually anything on @kayejwrotes! :D


	5. Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takahiro talks. Quite a lot.

Luck wasn’t Takahiro’s middle name.

No. When he had been born he took the queue for Dumbness and Wrong Decisions, blissfully missing the one labelled in gold with “LUCK” written in capitals.

When he entered the room where Matsukawa was waiting, it was dark, the shoji closed and the curtains drawn, no light filtering in from outside. He placed his feet one in front of the other, trying to not make the tatami creak under his passage, but after the fourth careful step, something sleek came under his foot and it just swished away from under it. He tried keeping his equilibrium, but it was already too late, all the weight pulled back, no sign of anything to help him stop the fall and that’s how Takahiro landed on Issei’s sleeping form with a thud and a groan.

“What the fuck…” 

Matsukawa looked at him with a blank stare, eyes probably still unfocused from the sleep he’d yet to shed off, but the annoyance in his sleep-rough voice was clear.

“Oh… it’s you.”

He was warm. The kind of scorching warmth that only sleep can create and it seeps through clothes, covers, the air surrounding him, skin. It's kind of an infectious warmth. 

Takahiro shouldn't linger on that sensation. He really should not. Matsukawa was obviously pissed off at him for waking him up now - as if Takahiro needed another reason to get the man more irritated at him after leaving him alone in an unknown place - and the right thing to do should be to apologize, put his pajamas on, and go to sleep in his futon without making any more of the mess he had already done. This should be the correct choice. 

Instead, Takahiro lingered, the tiredness from the previous evening coming back in full force once again, crashing down on him like a wave, inviting him to indulge into the illusion of a warmth that had nothing to do with human affection and more to self-regulating bodily functions. 

He knew it was a fact that people ran warmer when asleep, anyone would do for a warm hug if that were the case. Matsukawa was there now though, and so Takahiro lingered, gorging on the sensation of being enveloped into a warm embrace. Even if it wasn't for him.

It wasn't until Matsukawa cleared his voice and quietly sighed, shaking him lightly, that Takahiro realised he was slowly drifting asleep.

With a sigh, he lifted himself up from Matsukawa, enough to feel the cold night air on his cheeks. He felt so tired. This whole situation, the hellish day, and now Matsukawa’s look on him-  
Takahiro just wanted to fall face first on the futon and sleep for a full day without having to deal with anything or anyone else.

The thing he’d never fathomed about married life and that no amount of talks and rom-coms would have ever prepared him for was the fact of being constantly in the presence of someone else and the exhaustion that comes with having to interact with someone for such a long time.  
Maybe, if they were a real couple it wouldn’t be an issue. Wasn’t that what people in love wanted, to always be close to each other? 

Well, it wasn’t like he had any sort of measure in that department. He had never had prolonged exposure to any of his other partners in his previous relationships: it had always been a constant and a point of discord. He’d kick them out of his home as soon as possible in the aftermath of sex or a night out, or a good dinner - if sex wasn’t on the table, of course. He wasn’t really interested in the relationship part of a romantic relationship. There was no reason why he or the other should stick around after they got what they came for. Usually, after a few times like that, they left eventually. 

He never felt alone, or bad, after one of those break ups. To be honest. It wasn’t like he was banking on them staying around for so long from the beginning.

Of course, Matsukawa had to be the exception, if only for the fact that he couldn’t really kick him out of anything without raising suspicion over their “relationship.” If he and Matsukawa could just ignore themselves, that would have been amazing, but, for the sake of keeping up their charade, they were always interacting in some way. 

This tiredness now was probably a concoction of all of those feelings and situations. Takahiro can see where it comes from, in some rational way. And since none of them are real in the end, he shouldn't feel this weary. And yet he was. Weary. Spread thin. He just wanted to lie down and not care about anything else for a moment.

Matsukawa cleared his voice, and the fragile peacefulness of that moment was shattered. Takahiro rolled on his side, not caring of creasing his jacket and suit pants. He didn't give a fuck about that right now. He wanted to apologize. Explain. Get on a somewhat even level with Matsukawa, but he was so tired. The only thing he had the energy to do now was close his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

Unfortunately, someone else didn’t have the same plans.

“You smell of bad fried oil,” Matsukawa says. 

“Oh, thank you. That’s nice of you.” Sarcasm was an automatic form of defense, but even to Takahiro that answer seemed too weak.

“Maybe take a shower?” Matsukawa answered with a yawn. He stretched, rolling on his side, sleepy eyes like black pins in the dark of the room, and yet Takahiro could feel them on himself even if he was staring at the ceiling. 

Takahiro sighed. “Honestly…? I’m too tired for that right now. Can we just… I don’t know, sleep?”

“You’ve just awakened me for good with all the noise you did. Deal with it,” was Matsukawa's seraphic answer. Translated: I don’t give a fuck about that. How polite of him.

“Issei, really, I don’t have the strength right now for this - ” Takahiro tried, but it seemed like Matsukawa didn’t give a shit about that.

“I don’t care. I’ve all the rights to be pissed at you right now, don’t you think?” his husband replied with a quirk of his eyebrow. Takahiro wasn’t looking at him, but he just  _ knew  _ what face the other was doing. He’d heard that nonplussed tone one too many times in meetings at work.

“If it’s because I woke you up, it wasn’t my intention, I really slipped on something -”

Takahiro really wanted to avoid having a fight at the moment. Why couldn’t they just avoid having this conversation altogether? He didn’t want to discuss what happened with Matsukawa, but it seemed like stepping on him and waking him up was the fucking cherry on the cake to have Matsukawa drag him right now.

How lucky, really.

“First,” Matsukawa stopped him, long fingers looking like pale warning signs as he lifted them up one by one while he listed all the wrongs Takahiro ever did to him, “you ask for my help in this fuckery of yours; Second, you drag me in a place I’ve never been and leave me alone despite me being on my best behaviour to keep this shitshow up for your sake; Third- I don’t even need a third, really. The fact you still refuse to put even the tiniest bit of trust in me could be the third and final thing, but to be honest I could go on for days if I wanted to, Takahiro.” Takahiro’s name had never sounded so full of venom on someone’s lips. 

They had used first names for the sake of keeping up the fake relationship before, but never when they were alone. Hearing his name from Matsukawa that way, felt like being slapped by a block of ice.

If the air had felt heavy before, now it was charged with electricity. Takahiro turned to look at Matsukawa and it was probably the wrong thing to do in that moment, because what he saw was the deep disappointment etched on Matsukawa’s features.

It made something inside him surge through all the tiredness. What did he owe to that man? Nothing, everything, who cared? He shouldn’t feel entitled to anything in regards to Takahiro. Takahiro doesn’t owe him anything at all! He’s free of whatever debt toward whoever deemed they could have dibs on him and yet… Matsukawa was right. That tiny, bit, piece of knowledge that told him Matsukawa was indeed entitled to some sort of explanation… It was that part of him that blocked the explosion threatening to wake up the whole building.

They stared at each other in the silence of the night for Takahiro didn’t know how long.

It felt weird, the sudden silence, after such passionate words. The quiet room now felt alien. The soft tatami under their bodies, the moonlight filtering from the paper of the shoji, Matsukawa’s rumpled form next to him, the harsh line of his jaw highlighted in the cold light of the night.  
For a fleeting moment, while they just stared at each other - as if they were trying to guess where the tender point to attack was - Takahiro surprised himself with the thought that Matsukawa was sort of beautiful in a way. There was not a feature that matched - what with those bushy eyebrows, so bold! - and yet, everything in some weird way was in harmony. Even now, when Matsukawa was scowling at him.

“I want some explanation now, or I’ll go back to Tokyo alone and on Monday I’ll file for divorce. If you want me on board with this, I won’t have you keeping secrets from me.” Matsukawa’s words - so done with Takahiro - took him back from his reverie. 

He wasn’t making this up. Takahiro could see it from the look he was giving him. He was determined to obtain what he wanted or just leave him up and try to pick up the pieces of their farce alone. All the will to fight the other drained from him at the realisation. He didn’t want to do this. He really didn’t want to. But he was tired. Of everything and everyone. Fuck this.

“There really isn’t any secret.”

“Don’t you fucking dare…!” Matsukawa hissed, “I want answers, apologies, I don’t give a fuck how you wanna call them, but if you want me to play along with this, I need for you to talk to me.”

Takahiro sighed, “There really isn’t much to say, though. I went to my Uncle’s house. Happy now?”

“Go on.”

Another deep sigh. It felt incredibly wrong to tell Matsukawa any of that, but Takahiro really didn’t have a choice. He needed him. Just his luck. He was so done. Maybe if he held off for a bit, Matsukawa would let him off? It felt like an empty hope though.

“I went there, pulled some weeds, gave some water to all the flowers and plants, checked that everything was where it should have been, checked that all bills were paid before uncle passed, the usual stuff one does when a relative dies. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Matsukawa's eyes were relentless, boring into his own. An unyielding stare, if Takahiro had ever seen one.

“What do you want, Matsukawa? Just say it out loud and don’t let us drag this on any further. I’m really tired.”

“... I need to know why you are doing all of this. You hate being married,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You hate having me around at all times. You don’t even try hard enough for people to believe we are a couple if I’m not the one pushing you. You clearly hate having to deal with all the bureaucracy involving that house and all the other things. Why not spare yourself this pain in the ass of a marriage too? Why play along? I need to know why you are going to such lengths for a house you’ll never live in. Why do you deal with all of this? How do you function, Takahiro.”

Once, Takahiro had found an old jug in his uncle's basement that was tightly sealed. He’d tried to pry it open, curious to know what it was inside, because he was certain he’d felt something rattle. No matter how hard he tried, the lid  hadn’t budged a smidge. Frustrated and angry at the stubborn thing, with all the dramatic effect a kid was capable of, he had thrown it across the room. Hitting the wall, it had shattered in a spectacular crash of pottery and dust, and when Takahiro had inched closer to see… he found out that in the end, it was just an empty jug.   
Pulling out words right now made him think of that moment.

“As I’ve already told you, my family isn’t the typical family,” Takahiro began. “My father left my mom when I was little. My Uncle took his place in some way. He was the only male figure in my life growing up.

“Every summer, I’d go to his place in Kyoto, and I’d watch him tending to that garden for as long as he could. He didn’t have kids of his own, he was never married. In that big house of his, it was just him and the garden, except for myself for a few months every year.

“He wasn’t a gardener. He was a calligrapher. Ink and brush were his call. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as what he managed to do with just a few strokes of the brush. He woke every morning at five o’clock just so he could practice his art, but he also worked devotedly in the garden every day. No matter rain, or snow, or the heat of summer in Kyoto. He just spent countless hours with hands browned with soil when he could have spent them on his work or doing something else. Most of the time, it was him complaining over pesky weeds trying to grow where they should have not, and why plants didn’t seem to do what he wanted them to do. Honestly, I would have understood his garden obsession if he enjoyed it, but it seemed the exact opposite. Whenever I asked him why he did that, he always said it was a gift. And one should always take care of the gifts they receive. I didn’t understand.” 

Takahiro shifted on his side, holding his head with his hand. The lid on the jug rattled, switching of a fraction on the guides, and once again he thought there was something inside. But he knew the truth. There was nothing in there for him to see. 

“One summer though - I was probably sixteen at the time, Tooru and Hajime had recently announced they were in a relationship - well, I told my Uncle their story. I swear I’ve never seen such a pain-filled smile as the one he did at the end of my rant over how disgusting my friends were. He didn’t say anything for a while, just kept caressing a hortensia leaf between his fingers. I expected him to ask me what I thought about them being, you know, two guys and liking each other, and have an awkward conversation over ‘the gays’ and so on. The typical parent-son awkward conversations over the topic.

“At the time, I hadn’t come out as anything yet. I wasn’t sure of what I was and I was also scared shitless. In my sixteen year old mind, Tooru and Hajime being idiots in love was the perfect excuse to gauge his reaction over the matter. After some time, he sighed with a smile full of longing and pain I couldn’t decipher and just said, ‘How lucky. You should be happy for them.’

“Just that. I was stunned. I didn’t expect an answer like that one. I was ready for a more in depth conversation. I didn’t get why he was so chill about it - even though Uncle has always been chill over the weirdest things. He was of that age that made you anticipate weird talks, judgement, rejection over the matter. Not that kind of tepid acceptance that I couldn’t wrap my mind around.” 

“I stewed over it for a few days. He probably did so too. We went about as usual for a few days, me going around with Yotaro and generally being a menace, Uncle doing his work and tending dutifully everyday to the garden.

“Four days later, it rained heavily. We were closer to the beginning of August and rain showers had begun later in Kyoto that year, so we were still having quite a few of those. That afternoon it was raining a lot. Like most of the time when I wouldn’t go out, I sat on the inner veranda that looked on the garden with a book, my sketchbook and some snacks.”

The memory was still fresh to this day. He had always loved how the garden looked in the rain. In Takahiro's modest opinion, it always looked it’s best under heavy rain. The leaves greener, lusher under the rain pelting down, the smell of petrichor raising from the ground overwhelming everything else. He liked to sit on the porch for hours, legs crossed, sketchbook open, trying to capture the very peculiar way leaves trembled when hit by such heavy rain. That day though, he couldn’t concentrate and had opted to try reading some book he should have read for the beginning of the next term at school. 

“I was reading some kind of novel for school, but I kept stopping and going back to the conversation me and my uncle had the last time when we were sitting in that place. More like the conversation that we didn’t have. I was a weird teenager,” Takahiro chuckled, shifting more comfortably on his side. Matsukawa’s eyes were fixed on him, but it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before.

“I desperately wanted his approval on everything I did, and yet that time when he accepted my friends so quickly… I really didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that.

“Anyway, my uncle surprised me by sitting down next to me that afternoon, bringing the gift of cold barley tea. He started talking just like that. No warning. I discovered a world I’d never imagined could exist inside him. It was probably because I had always considered - needed - adults to be above things like feelings, but in the end they felt things the same way I did. I guess I was just like every other teenager in that regard. They feel like adults are these entities untouchable by mere emotions. The thought that they could be heartbroken had never been more than a far off idea for me.

“To make it short, when he was as young as I was, my uncle had a friend, a best friend. They’d grown up together, much like Tooru and Hajime. Times were different though, being gay wasn’t as accepted as it is today. They fell in love anyway. My uncle more than his friend. He used to come every day at my uncle’s home and tend to the garden there, right after when my uncle had taken possession of the family home after his father passed. He had inherited that huge space he didn’t care one bit about and yet he didn’t want to get rid of it since it had been in the family for such a long time. He didn’t know how to care about it though. Lucky for him, his friend was a gardener. He loved plants the same way my uncle loved his ink and brush.

“The garden was their safe space, guarded as it was by the high walls surrounding the house.  
They could exchange soft looks, timid touches - but no more than that - with no one bothering them. It was a separate place from the rest of the world. They always kept from crossing that thin line that would have marked them openly as lovers. His friend was too afraid, and my uncle never pushed the topic.

“The time they spent together, it was spent as friends, talking in the garden while his friend took care of it for my Uncle. They often talked about it - the garden. Even while watching his friend tending to the plants, my uncle hated gardening. He couldn't get what was so special about waiting for years to get the precious view of a flower or what was so entrancing about carefully placing stones in the sand at random.

“But he loved him. He listened to him every time he talked about how much he loved his three decrepit tomato plants on his balcony and how he wished he could have some more space to grow something more beautiful than fruit and vegetables. 

“One day, it all stopped though. His friend didn’t come to check the plants and exchange looks with him. Some time later, he saw him walking around with his wife, the guiltiest look in his eyes as they exchanged a stilted greeting and saluted themselves as ‘old friends.’

“In the end, their love was extinguished but the plants survived. Uncle kept saying there was something poetic in this,” Takahiro scoffed. 

It felt too much like watching someone skirt the precipice every day and not being able to do anything to prevent them from eventually falling over. “The only thing I could see was beautiful flowers and a man with a broken heart unable to get on with his life. He lived in a past that never existed. A stupid game of pretending things that never were in the first place.”

“That’s it. That’s why I’ll never let that place go to waste. Do what you want with it.”

Matsukawa stared at him, not saying anything. 

“Fuck… My throat feels parched,” Takahiro says.

“Well, you talked quite a lot…”

Takahiro rolled over on his side, finally looking the other man in the eyes. He felt lighter in some way. Lighter and tired. He could probably sleep for two days straight if left to himself. Even if this had been all for Matsukawa’s sake, sort of getting back on equal ground with him, he didn’t care that much about what would happen now.

He felt accomplished at the moment. Takahiro exhaled, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

*******   
  


  
It was a beautiful story, but it didn’t explain shit to him. That was what Issei wanted to answer at first, but watching Hanamaki falling asleep with such a peaceful, freed, expression, he really couldn’t find it in himself to wake him up once again and start the whole thing all over again.

Watching the serene up and down of Hanamaki’s chest as his breathing became more even the longer he slept, Issei found himself trying to put together pieces that didn’t make sense at all.

It was a good story, the one Hanamaki told him. A really good one. He could have easily pictured a gangly teenager on the porch, lots of pens and pencils scattered around as he scribbled lazily on one of those discount store sketchbooks.

The thing he couldn’t get, though, was why - instead of running away from the responsibility that house placed on his shoulders - Hanamaki was doing whatever he could to preserve it.

The guy was full of flaws, Issei knew this more than anyone else, but he honestly couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it. Even if it was a beautiful house, was it really worth all that trouble?

Issei finds himself thinking about how Ryoutaro-san had been the only father figure Hanamaki had had in his life while staring in the dark at the ceiling, Hanamaki slowly snoring next to him now.

He wondered distractedly if he’d ever do something like that for his own father.

Probably not. As sad as the answer could be - he knew as an upstanding son he should have answered yes - in all honesty, Issei couldn’t really think about doing something like that for a house, or for his father. 

He tried to imagine himself in Hanamaki’s place. 

The most important man of his life died, the one that had helped him become who he was, and all that was left of him was just a house, a garden that he had technically no ties to.

Would he do all he could to preserve something of his passage on the world? Yes, definitely. He wasn’t such a heartless bastard.

Was that person his father? No, he wasn’t.

Maybe, if Issei had been a different person, if they had a different relationship, that person could be his father. The same goes for his mother. There really wasn’t any reason why he would do something at the length Hanamaki was willing to go for his uncle for his own parents. Issei doesn’t feel that pull, the kind of pride and righteousness Hanamaki exuded when telling his story.

They were his parents, he’ll always love them in some way. He didn’t feel the need to preserve anything of them after they passed. It could be because they are quite ordinary people, with ordinary lives, and with ordinary expectations for their son.

Despite not really getting why it was so important to meet their expectations, Issei had always been aware, since he was a child, what his role in the family was. He was a quiet kid, and growing up he’d ended up meeting all of their requests, more reluctant each time as he became older, except for one his mother had been nagging him about for a while.

He glanced at his side, where Hanamaki was now passed out. He was snuggling against his side, outside the futon, still wearing his clothes from the day. It wasn’t exceptionally cold, but he could see him shiver lightly in his sleep.

Technically, Issei thought while covering his husband with the side of his futon, despite not having planned to meet his mother’s expectations by getting married, he had met them once more.

  
  


*******

The next morning, Issei woke up slowly. It usually took him only a few moments to feel awake once he opened his eyes, but that morning he kept his eyes tightly shut. Inside the futon, it felt incredibly nice, and he just wanted to snuggle a bit more in the soft covers and fall asleep again in the warmth.

If it wasn’t for that thing tickling his nose, he’d probably go asleep once again.    


He tried to distance himself from the annoying thing, but a pair of arms tightened as soon as he tried to wiggle away, and the memory of the previous night came back like a punch to the stomach.

Takahiro… well, he was hugging him almost too tightly, legs tangled with Issei’s own under the futon. He must have lost one sock during the night, because Issei could feel the icy sole of his foot nestled between his calves. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could seem, if only he didn’t have Hanamaki’s short hair tickling his nose at every breath.

He tried to lift his head higher, but as soon as Hanamaki felt him moving, he tightened his hold once again, squeezing impossibly closer to Issei. 

Issei wheezed. He wiggled one arm out of Hanamaki’s vicious hold and pushed at the other’s chest.

A groan was all the warning he got before Hanamaki tried to take back the arm pushing him away.

“What the hell…” Issei murmured, shaking him lightly. “Hanamaki… Hanamaki… Come on, Takahiro…!”

At that, Hanamaki opened his eyes, sitting up with a jolt and taking all the covers with himself.  “Yes! What! I’m awake!”

“Oh, thank you! I was starting to feel a little constricted here…” Issei said, finally able to stretch a bit and breathe more comfortably now that Hanamaki was off of him.

Hanamaki looked at him a bit lost, and it was clear that it took him a few seconds to put Issei’s words together, from how late the blush was creeping on his neck. He scratched his cheek, sheepishly. 

“Uhm… Sorry. I’m not usually this clingy while sleeping.”

Issei shrugged. “It’s not a problem.”

There was an awkward silence between them this morning. It stretched like a lazy cat between them, unhurried to take its leave. It was as if, with the light trickling in from the paper of the shoji, all the memories, the words shared last night were slowly coming back one by one, unfiltered and bare for the both of them to see without the protection of the dark.

Issei wanted Hanamaki to say something, to fill the silence with something stupid, nervous and unrelated.   


For some weird reason, at that moment, pretending like last night never happened felt comfortable. It could have been so easy. Those days had been packed full of lies. Last night could be classified as a slip-up, something that got muttered in the dark and belonged to a place that the light wasn’t allowed to touch. The truth had no reason to mingle with them in the day. It would have been merciful to spare them from closing the conversation from last night.

And yet Issei allowed them none.

“Takahiro…” Saying Hanamaki’s name had a different taste than last night, some tanginess that spoke of finality. “I know this is just a lie, for me and you, but don’t keep things from me anymore. At least, let us be honest between each other. Okay?”   
  
Hanamaki lifted up his eyes. There was a different nuance in the gray of his eyes with the morning light, Issei noticed. He nodded. “Okay.”

******

When they got back to Tokyo, things were different between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but at the same time they were not.

They woke up in the same bed, each one on his side, got breakfast together, got ready for work and headed out together. On the train toward the office, Matsukawa usually checked the news and Takahiro read some of the emails from his department. At work they mostly ignored each other. Sometimes they got lunch together, or with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, sometimes they ate at their respective desks, hunched over piles of papers. They went back home whenever they finished work, usually together. 

They’d fallen into a comfortable routine.

It was probably the false sense of security that such a quiet, comfortable routine gave them, that made the expression on Tooru’s face on a normal Tuesday afternoon in mid-November that much more alarming.

He had a letter in his hand, held a bit too tightly than what would be acceptable, and the expression of someone who had seen a ghost.

“Guys, I know it’s kinda short notice, but you should both head up in my office in ten minutes because there’s someone asking for the both of you.”

Takahiro and Issei had just headed out for a coffee and were now getting back. It was simple things like those that helped keep up the pretence. Taking a coffee together had been more than enough for the moment, to give the idea of a loving, but respectable couple.

“Did they say what they wanted us both for?” Matsukawa asked, while Hanamaki took the letter from Tooru’s outstretched hand.

Hanamaki paled a bit, reading the address on the letter. 

“Time to step up our game, I guess.” He said, turning the envelope so that Matsukawa could see it too.

On the letter, “To the Hanamaki-Matsukawa household - From The Minister of Justice - Family and Same Sex Law Committee” was written on the address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next chapter: Stepping up the game_
> 
> Ah... this was quite the long one, wasn't it?  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as much as I did writing, because - I'm not kidding - it wasn't an easy one.  
> I debated if it should have been better if I split it, but in the end, it didn't work if not as a whole  
> There were more scenes I would have wanted to add but they didn't make the cut in the end.  
> Maybe they'll make an appearance later.
> 
> I hope that despite all the things that happened in 2020, you'll spend this last month with some happy thoughts and your loved ones and that this chapter helped to lift you all up a bit!  
> See you in the New Year, on January 2 with chapter six! :)  
> 
> 
> As always kudos and comments feed my muse and I enjoy quite a lot talking with you all. Leave a comment if you want or come chat with me on tumblr/twitter @kayejwrotes.  
> I've a curiouscat too now! Send me questions about virtually anything on @kayejwrotes! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos feed my muse, plus I'd love to discuss about this fic with you all, so please feel free to leave a comment (don't worry if it's short! I'll love it anyway!)
> 
> Come chat with me also on Twitter or Tumblr @kayejwrotes!
> 
> Ps: Also, if you are worried about long updates (or just shy) - which will definitely be a thing - but don't want to obsessively check your Ao3 bookmarks, feel free to hit the subscribe button up above. Ao3 will notify you with an email whenever the next chapter gets posted. I won't know who subscribed to this fic, but the number will surely make my work feel appreciated (drop by with a comment too from time to time, and I'll probably be sending you chocolate every weekend, just saying).


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